MURD 201: Exam 2
by Alyssa Blackbourn
Summary: Murdoc's class is back in session and ready for round two, and these lessons are brutal. The curve can't save them, and maybe Mac can't, either. PLEASE read A/N; this is the 3rd story in this series and the 2nd story from me.
1. Lecture 1

**Hey everybody! I'm back! If you're a returning reader, welcome back! If you're new, stop right now, because this story cannot be read without first reading the following:  
** ** _MURD 201: Syllabus_ by Haven126 and  
** _ **MURD 201: Exam 1**_ **by me  
** **Other than that, good to have you here! I hope you enjoy this, and once again, I have to thank Haven126 for her invaluable help. This one is shaping up to be a lot shorter than the last one, but I get the feeling that the exam chapter will still be a beast of a thing. Anyway, on with the show!**

* * *

Mac sat on the floor of Riley's bedroom, staring off out the window, a frown on his face. Almost everything around him had a thin layer of dust coating it; none of it had been touched in just over six weeks, since the night Matty was kidnapped and nearly drowned. He'd been coming here at least three times a week either before or after work, trying to figure out where in the hell he went wrong, how Murdoc managed to get around their defenses. For six weeks, he had no clue. Today, he finally figured it out.

"Hey," Mac looked up and saw Jack leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded and looking down at his partner.

"Hey," Mac sighed wearily. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," Jack promised, looking out the window as the sun climbed over the horizon.

"Simmons and Ramirez still outside?" the blond agent questioned. In addition to moving them all to a safehouse, Matty had insisted on making absolutely certain that no one went anywhere alone, so different members of the tac teams had been shadowing them for six weeks. Mac absolutely appreciated the concern, and the feeling that so many people were looking out for him, but sometimes, he just wanted five minutes when he didn't feel like he was being watched.

"Of course they are," Jack scoffed. "And since I'm here, Carter and Wyatt are, too."

"Well, now it's a party," Mac shot a tired smirk in his partner's direction, and Jack chuckled.

"You find anything?" the older agent asked, expecting him to give the same answer he did every time.

"Actually, yes," Mac confirmed, and Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I know how he got in."

"No kiddin'," Jack seemed impressed, and he was. They were quiet for a couple seconds before the former Delta let out an exasperated breath.

"Well, don't leave me in suspense!" he snapped good-naturedly. "How'd he do it?"

Mac chuckled slightly, then held out his hand, which Jack took, pulling him to his feet. The blond man led his partner over to Riley's open closet door.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"Man, if you're gonna try and make me guess..." Jack grumbled.

"Just..." Mac shook his head and rolled his eyes, then reached up and tugged on the string that turned on the light. "Tell me what you see."

Jack gave him a look, then turned his attention to the closet, examining it. Most of it had been cleared out since they all relocated; only a few pairs of shoes, a dress, and a couple jackets remained.

"Nothing," he reported finally. "Would you just tell me what it is you found?"

Mac sighed, then pulled out his Swiss Army knife, selected one of the thin blades, and knelt down, inserting the blade in between two panels of the hardwood floor. Jack's eyebrows went up again when he watched Mac pry up what turned out to be a panel of the floor, about three boards wide, held together by two wood blocks on the underside.

"That son of a..." Jack leaned forward and looked down at the hole below the panel. Where he expected to see the ceiling of the apartment below, he actually saw directly into the space, and also noted the ladder directly under the panel.

"He probably installed it while we were away on a mission or something," Mac sighed wearily.

"A literal monster in the closet?" Jack scoffed. "How poetic."

"He literally came up through the floor, Jack," Mac looked at his partner with that same stressed out, almost pleading expression that he'd had for the past two and a half months, as though he were begging for Jack to somehow make the madness stop. "How am I supposed to counter that?"

"No one's expecting you to, Mac," Jack's voice was gentle and ever-patient, although they'd had similar conversations regularly over the past six weeks. "There was no way you or anybody else could have seen this coming, and it hardly matters now; Riley's not here anymore. He can't touch her. At this rate, he's gonna have a damn near impossible time trying to get his hands on any of us."

"I guess," Mac grumbled. He was about to say more when both of their phones buzzed in their pockets. Neither had to look to see who it was, although they did, anyway.

"Alright, playtime's over," Jack beamed excitedly. He'd recently been cleared for the field again, and was itching to get back out there. "We got a case."

Mac gave a scoff of laughter, and the two of them made their way out of the apartment and down to the parking lot, noting their tails were still in position before each of them got into their cars and drove off in the direction of the Phoenix. All four cars arrived at just about the same time, and their occupants exited their vehicles, all six of them headed for the building.

"Morning, guys," Jack grinned at the four tac members. "You decide to get an early jump on things, too?"

"Not a whole lot of 'decision' involved, Jack," Simmons grumbled grouchily, though there was a teasing spark in his eyes. "You guys ever hear of this thing called 'sleep'?"

"Sleep?" Jack looked at Mac in mock confusion, and Mac played along seamlessly, giving an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. "Nope, never heard of it."

"Yeah, sure," Simmons scoffed, yanking open the door and holding it for everyone. The other five laughed, and once inside, they went their separate ways, the tac agents headed for the locker rooms, and Mac and Jack headed for the war room. Bozer, Riley, and Matty were already waiting for them.

"Morning," the former Delta greeted them cheerfully, making Mac grin slightly. The others smiled as well, a bit confused as they glanced at each other.

"Morning," Matty raised an eyebrow at him. Looking at her, no one would ever guess that she'd nearly died just six weeks prior. She looked the same as she always did: calm, professional, and in control. "You seem chipper."

"Just excited to get back on the horse," Jack grinned. "Where're we going?"

"San Diego," Matty replied, pulling up the appropriate files on the big screen. "For the past several months, the Phoenix has been working to dismantle a human trafficking ring based there. This one is particularly brutal; at least twelve of their victims were found dead before anybody caught on. Funds from this operation help fund terrorists _and_ help build and expand the human trafficking infrastructure. Their targets come in from all over the world and range in age from four all the way up through twenty-five, with the most common victim being between the ages of about ten and seventeen. The older end of the age range is almost exclusively composed of females, but pretty much under the age of fifteen, it's a fairly even split. We've been systematically shutting down their distribution points across the globe, making business very hard for them. Unfortunately, us putting pressure on them just seemed to make them more ruthless."

"I don't like the sound of that..." Mac mumbled, frowning.

"Lately, it has been nearly impossible for us to get close," Matty continued. "Every time we do, the body count keeps going up, and it's usually the victims we were trying to save that are adding to it. We haven't been able to get anyone on the inside thus far, but recently, we've had a bit of a break in the case."

An image came up on the screen, the surveillance shot of a man who was about thirty years old, with dark hair, a strong jaw, and an athletic build.

"This is Andrew Patton," their boss told them. "He has been a part of this organization for several years as a recruiter, and he has recently reached out to us, offering to help us take them down."

"Just like that?" Bozer raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"He claims to have had a change of heart," Matty shrugged. Her team looked less than convinced. "I understand your skepticism, guys. I feel the same way. That's why, the decision to move forward will ultimately fall to Mac and Jack after you meet with this guy today at three. If you think something is off, you get out. But if you think this guy might be telling the truth..."

"We could be saving hundreds of young women and kids," Mac concluded.

"Exactly."

"Well, sounds like a good time to me," Jack grinned. "When do we leave?"

"I want you all on the road in twenty minutes," Matty replied. She dismissed them, and Jack, Bozer, and Riley all filed out, but Mac stayed behind.

"I figured you should know," the blond agent sighed, sitting down in a chair facing her. "I figured out how Murdoc got into Riley's apartment. He came in through the floor."

"The floor?" Matty raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he popped out a few floorboards in her closet and came up from the apartment below," Mac explained.

"Is that apartment vacant?" Matty asked.

"Nope," Mac shook his head, looking exhausted. "Supposedly, it's being rented by a Mr. Thomas Green, who's either dead or never existed in the first place. Rent has always been paid in cash, and the landlord has never seen his face. It's another dead end."

"But it's an answer," Matty argued. "It's a start. And it could lead to something more; I'll have Riley look into it when you get back. It'll also probably help Riley rest a little easier; at least now, he's not some ghost, materializing wherever he wants."

"That's true," he allowed. Riley hadn't been sleeping well since the incident, and it wasn't hard to figure out why. "And what about you? We haven't had the chance to really talk since..."

"Since they fished me out of the water?" Matty raised an eyebrow, and Mac couldn't help but laugh slightly as he nodded.

"Well, I'm fine, Mac," his boss assured him. "No lasting damage; I'll be alright."

"Right, I know, but..." Mac's eyes became searching, concern radiating off of him. "Are you okay?"

Matty hesitated, as if trying to decide whether she was going to tell the truth or not. Finally, she gave a little shrug. "I won't lie to you, Mac; he rattled me," she admitted, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table across from him. "I don't think I have to tell you that I panicked just a little bit in there. I mean...the bastard managed to make me feel small. Now, mind you, I am small; I know that. But I never _feel_ small. I haven't felt small in a long, long time. When we were working on that generator, there, I thought that I was going to die because I physically could not save myself. I was going to die because I was too small."

Mac nodded, looking at her somewhat guiltily. "I'm sorry."

Matty blinked at him in confusion. "What on Earth for? Actually, no, don't answer that. Don't you dare be sorry, Mac. You saved my ass, and in the end, I didn't feel small. That's thanks to you, and don't you ever think otherwise. Got it?"

Mac felt a smile pull at his lips. "Got it."

"Good," Matty nodded in approval. "Now go on; you're needed down in San Diego."

"On it," Mac dipped his head dutifully, then stood up, heading out the door to find his team. They had work to do.

* * *

At four o'clock that evening, Mac and Jack were sitting outside the café they'd arranged to be their meeting location, blending in with the crowd. They'd already been there for an hour, with no sign of their contact. Jack was starting to get restless.

"I think we should call it, guys," he spoke up at last. "This guy's not coming."

"Maybe he's just stuck in traffic," Bozer offered. He and Riley were across the street in the car, watching them as Riley ran facial recognition using the nearby cameras.

"Or, maybe he's got cold feet and he's never gonna show," Jack shot back. "It's been an hour; if he was gonna show, he would have by now."

"Or, maybe he's just running late," Mac countered, giving an easy smile. "We have the opportunity to help a lot of innocent people, here, Jack; let's give him some more time."

Jack grumbled under his breath. They sat for another twenty minutes, sipping their drinks as Mac enjoyed a blueberry muffin. Just as Mac was going to call it, Riley spoke up from the car.

"Heads up; our guy's around the corner," she reported. "Dark gray shirt and jeans. Over Mac's shoulder; Jack, you should be able to see him right about...now."

Jack looked, and sure enough, there he was. He looked nervous and paranoid, glancing around him. Jack lifted his coffee mug slightly in Patton's direction, and the man swallowed hard, glancing around again before slowly making his way towards them, obviously trying to look casual. Jack rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"Andrew Patton?" Mac asked as the man came around and took the seat between him and Jack. He gave a quick nod, and Mac fixed him with a calming smile.

"You're late," Jack stated before Mac could continue, causing his partner to shoot him a look.

"Sorry," Patton's voice shook with the apology. "I couldn't get away."

"That's alright," Mac assured him. "So, what is it you wanted to talk to us about?"

"Ahm, I..." Patton struggled to find his words, and the two Phoenix agents exchanged glances. Their contact took a breath to calm himself. "First, I want a guarantee that I won't be prosecuted for this; I'm trying to help. I'm trying to do the right thing."

"That can be arranged," Mac promised.

"If you give us something that's worth it," Jack added, taking a sip of his coffee. Patton nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he placed his tightly-clasped hands on the tabletop.

"They're having an auction tomorrow night at eight," the man told them, his voice low. "Big black-tie event, lots of high rollers coming in. Security is tight, but only around the guests; it wouldn't be that hard for you to slip into the bosses' office. Everything you need to know would be right there; supply routes, store houses, contacts, inventory lists, buyer information, everything."

"Sounds too good to be true," Jack chuckled, and when Patton looked at him, he leaned forward. "So why now, Andrew? Our intel says you've been working for these guys for years; why come to us now?"

Patton dropped his eyes guiltily, his jaw tightening. It was a couple seconds before he spoke.

"I started out as a lure," he began quietly. "I'd just dropped out of college; I was up to my eyeballs in student debt and medical bills; my mom had just died of cancer; I'd lost my job because I'd had to spend all my time taking care of her...I was desperate. They offered me a way to make five grand a night; I'd go out, have some fun on their dime...and drop something in a girl's drink. Then I'd drive them out to a parking lot, leave them in the van, switch cars, and go home, and in the morning, I'd come back, and there would be five grand in cash in the back of the van. I'd convince myself that they'd just robbed her, was all, and she'd be okay."

Here, his voice caught, and he cleared his throat, refusing to look either agent in the eye. "But, recently, I started to gain trust in the organization. They gave me a look behind the curtain, and...God, that place...they're mostly just kids. Children. Like, little...little kids, and I, just...I can't be a part of that. I have to do something. I have to stop it. Please...you have to help me..."

Mac and Jack looked at each other, a conversation passing silently between them. Finally, Mac let out a breath and leaned forward.

"Okay, Andrew," he said quietly. "My partner and I are going to talk it over, figure out a plan. In the meantime, we need a couple things from you."

"Like what?" Patton asked, his voice both eager and uncertain.

"Well, first of all, you've gotta understand that this is an unusual situation," Mac explained. "Normally, there's an extensive vetting process before we even meet with a source. And you've gotta admit, you coming to us after being with these people for years is a bit suspicious. So we're gonna need a gesture of good faith, here."

"Okay," Patton let out a shaky breath. "What do you want?"

"Tell us who the boss is," Mac replied. "If that checks out, we're in business. And, obviously, we need the location of this..." he felt a twinge of discomfort and shifted, "auction."

"No, guys, you don't understand; they will kill me," Patton protested, fear in his eyes.

"Well, to be honest, dude," Jack sighed, taking off his sunglasses and leaning forward, "if they'll kill you for telling us a name, they'll kill you for having this meeting; you're already in. You might as well go all in."

"And, if we can't prove that you've got legitimate intel to offer, we can't authorize a mission," Mac added, giving a small shrug. "If you want to help, this is the only way."

Patton glanced back and forth between them, his expression conflicted. Finally, he deflated and nodded.

"Christian and Makayla Galloway," he told them quietly. "And the meet up is at these coordinates." The agents watched as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and quickly scribbled a set of numbers on Jack's napkin, followed by a string of ten digits. "The buyers drive out there, and then they're blindfolded and taken to another location where they keep the, um...merchandise."

"Well, that's gonna be a pain in the ass," Jack muttered. Andrew ignored him.

"That also has my phone number," he explained nervously, standing up as Jack looked at what he'd written before handing it to his partner. "Just...call me when you decide. I have to go."

With this, he quickly walked off, disappearing around the corner. When he was gone, Mac and Jack looked at each other.

"Well, he sure was nervous," Riley commented as both agents stood up and Mac left enough money on their table to cover their drinks, his muffin, and the tip.

"Yeah, but was he nervous because he's scared his bosses will find out, or was he nervous because he was playing us?" Jack challenged as he and his partner headed back towards the car.

"That is the all-important question," Mac sighed as he slipped his sunglasses back on. "Riley, start running down those names he gave us. In the meantime, let's head back to the hotel."

"No arguments from me," Bozer agreed as the other two agents resumed their places in the car, Jack behind the wheel and Mac in the passenger seat. "This car is getting cramped."

"You're telling me," Riley muttered, shooting him a sideways glance. Jack chuckled in amusement, then started the car and pulled out into the street, turning in the direction of their hotel.

* * *

Around seven that night, the Phoenix crew had gathered in Mac and Bozer's hotel room, with Matty conferenced in over the phone. After giving Riley some time to dig around, they were meeting to decide whether they were going undercover, or going back home.

"So," Matty sighed. "What did you find?"

"I'd like to first go on record and say that I'd _really_ like more time to go over this," Riley began. "It's a lot of information to vet in less than twenty-eight hours."

"I understand that," Mac allowed, his arms crossed. They'd had this argument a few times already. "But if this is legit, we don't have that kind of time, Riley. Those _people_ don't have that kind of time. We need to make a decision, one way or the other, tonight."

"And I get that, but I'm putting my vote in for 'this is a bad idea,'" Riley shot back.

"Noted," Matty broke in impatiently. "What did you find?"

"Well, everything he said about himself checks out," the analyst admitted. "In the years leading up to when we know he joined the operation, his mother battled advanced ovarian cancer. He dropped out of school and quit his job to take care of her, but she still died after three years, leaving him with over a hundred grand in combined debt. But, today, he's debt free, and there's no legal explanation for it.

"As for the names he gave us, they also seem legit," the words were said almost grudgingly. "Christian Galloway and his wife Makayla, on the surface, are successful restaurant owners, but that doesn't explain the millions they have in offshore accounts. They could easily be who Patton says they are. They could also be really, _really_ well-crafted covers."

"What about the coordinates?" Matty pressed

"They lead to an abandoned diner out in the mountains," Riley told her. "It's secluded, and even if they won't check for bugs—which they absolutely will—trying to track a signal there is going to be hell."

"Someone's a Debbie Downer," Jack teased with a scoff.

"I'm just trying to tell you what you're up against," Riley snapped, stress in her tone. "I _cannot_ keep you safe if I don't have all the information, and I don't right now, and there's no way I can _get_ all the information before tomorrow night. If this turns out to be a trap, both of you could be killed before I even knew about it. Do you guys not _get_ that?"

"Of course we do, Riley," Mac assured her gently. "And these are the kinds of risks we take every day in this line of work. You just do what you can; we can always pull out before tomorrow night if you find something."

"I take it you want to go in," Matty commented.

"I'm not sure," Mac admitted after a pause. "I agree with Riley that it feels a bit too convenient. And, if we're wrong, there's a huge personal risk to consider."

"But," prompted Bozer, sensing there was more that his roommate wanted to say.

"But," the blond agent sighed, "if this is the real deal, we may never get another chance to save these people." He looked over at Jack, as if asking for his thoughts, and the older man shrugged.

"Hey, you know I'm with you, Mac," he said with an easy grin. "If you're goin', I'm goin'. If you wanna hold off, I'll back your play, then, too."

Mac hesitated, looking over the case file in his hands. Admittedly, it was a longshot, and a dangerous one. Riley was right; there was no way to be certain that this wasn't some kind of trap. But if there was even a _chance_ that Patton was telling the truth...

The blond man looked at the crime scene photos of the ring's known victims. All were thin, bruised, and bloody. Of the thirty images, twenty-one of them were of victims aged eighteen or younger. Of those, four were under the age of ten. Mac's stomach churned, and he quickly tore his eyes away.

"I say we go for it," he stated finally, much to Riley's apparent dismay. "At least for now. If Riley finds something before the auction tomorrow, we'll pull the plug, but until then, I think we have to assume this is legit."

"You don't _have_ to do anything," Riley muttered. Mac glanced at her, but didn't say anything.

"Alright," Matty agreed as though Riley hadn't spoken. "Set it up with Patton. I'll send some tac backup your way. But Riley, if you find even the slightest indication that this is anything other than what Patton says it is, you call it. Everybody got it?"

"Yes ma'am," Jack nodded, and the others mumbled their agreement as well.

"Good," Matty approved. "I'll check back in tomorrow. Try to get some sleep."

The team said their goodbyes, and then Mac hung up his phone.

"I still don't like this," Riley spoke up, trying one more time to get her friend to change his mind.

"Well, Riley, if you find even the slightest contradiction to Patton's story, we'll call the whole thing off," Mac promised, picking up the napkin containing the coordinates and their contact's phone number. "Until then, if we can save those people, we've gotta try."

Riley didn't respond, just returning her attention to her screen and typing away. Mac shook his head slightly, then dialed the number on the napkin and brought it up to his ear as it rang. On the third ring, Patton answered with a nervous, "Hello?"

"Hey, Andrew," Mac's voice was disarmingly cheerful when he spoke. "We're in."

* * *

Early the next morning, before the sun even began to rise, Jack woke up and rolled over in his bed, trying to resettle, only to be met by a soft blue glow that penetrated his eyelids. The former Delta opened his eyes, and found Riley sitting up in bed, her expression that of intense focus. Jack blinked, then propped himself up on his forearm.

"Riles," his voice was quiet and husky with sleep, but it was enough to startle the young analyst, causing her body to jolt in the bed. Jack chuckled softly as she shot him a death glare.

"Don't do that," she hissed irritably.

"Sorry," Jack apologized quietly, though his tired eyes gleamed with mischief. He sat up in bed with a groan and turned to face her, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed. "What are you doing up?"

"Trying to find what I'm missing before you and Mac go and get yourselves killed," Riley replied, sounding more than a little frustrated. Jack blinked at her, then looked over at the clock on the nightstand. It was just after three in the morning, and the former Delta groaned.

"God, Riles, have you even slept?" he asked incredulously.

"Not yet," Riley shrugged, hardly glancing at him.

"Riley..." Jack let out a weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Put the computer down for just a minute, wouldja?"

"What?" Riley gave him a sideways glance before returning to her work. "No."

"Five minutes won't kill anybody," Jack's voice took on that tone it did before he suggested pizza and skee ball, and Riley suppressed a groan, her eyes rolling upwards for a moment before she reluctantly turned away from her screen.

"What's going on with you?" the older man demanded, his eyes searching her face.

"What do you mean?" the analyst asked almost irritably.

"You know exactly what I mean," Jack fixed her with a look. "You've been a little off for the past six weeks, but then earlier, you just went off the rails. I know that what happened with Murdoc scared you, Riles, but I think you might be letting the paranoia get to your head, here."

"Oh, my God, Jack," Riley shook her head and closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to calm down.

"No, don't 'oh my God, Jack' me," the older agent frowned. "This isn't healthy, Riles. I know you're just trying to have our backs, but you need to sleep, kiddo. Honestly, if tomorrow turns out to be a trap, I'd much rather have you well-rested so you can think clear enough to help us out. Now, what exactly is making you freak out? Because I know it's not just this mission; we've done dumber things before and you've never reacted like this."

Riley didn't respond, shifting uncomfortably. Her expression reminded him of when she was a kid, and he'd cornered her over a slice of pizza. Jack looked at her sympathetically.

"Can I tell you what I think the problem is?" he asked. Riley hesitated, then gave a small nod.

"I think this is my first mission back since Murdoc made his comeback; I think _you_ are a bit of a control freak; and I think that, since you found those pictures, you haven't felt an abundance of control, so now, what would usually be an expected risk suddenly seems like the end of the world."

Riley blinked at him in shock. "That was oddly insightful," she remarked after a moment.

"Yeah, well, I've been to a lot of mandatory shrinks," the older man shrugged with a sly smirk. Riley laughed in spite of herself.

"Listen, Riles, I know you're worried, and Mac and I both appreciate it," Jack rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. "But this is gonna work out, one way or another. We have the chance to do a lot of good for a lot of innocent people."

"Or, you could be walking right into a trap," Riley countered, pulling one of her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on it.

"Or we could be walking right into a trap," Jack shrugged. "And between the four of us and tac, we can probably figure a way out of that, too. That is, if you've got your head on right. And pulling an all-nighter right before a mission is not the best way to do that."

Riley let out a sigh, then nodded slowly. "You're right," she admitted somewhat grudgingly, rubbing her screen-fatigued eyes. "You're right, I just..."

"You can't sleep," Jack finished her thought for her. "I know. But he's not gonna be there if you close your eyes, Riles. He's not some kind of ghost; he can't just appear out of thin air. Mac figured out how he got into your apartment and past all our defenses; he couldn't possibly do that again, and he certainly couldn't do it here."

"How did he do it?" Riley asked. Jack opened his mouth to answer, but the analyst quickly stopped him. "No, wait...I don't wanna know. Not until this mission is over. Just...you're _sure_ he couldn't do it here?"

"Positive," Jack assured her, and he was; the floor beneath their feet _and_ the ceiling above them both had a concrete core. Short of a jackhammer, he couldn't dream of getting in.

Riley breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in her shoulders releasing drastically. When she finally spoke, her voice was full of gratitude, "Thanks, Jack."

"No problem, kiddo," Jack grinned, then stood up. "Now close that screen and go to sleep; I'm gonna get some water."

Riley rolled her eyes, but gave a small half-smile and closed her laptop screen, setting the device off to the side on the nightstand, and by the time Jack returned from the bathroom, the analyst was fast asleep. The older man stood there, studying her for a moment with the slightest smile on his face, before he finally dragged himself back to bed, returning to his slumber.

* * *

Promptly at seven the night after their arrival, the Phoenix team arrived at a SWAT training facility in San Diego. Tac was already there and geared up, along with local SWAT. Matty had sent three teams for a total of eighteen agents: Carter's team, Cassidy Todd's team, and Simmons' team—which was back up to six members, since Jada Navarro was back from maternity leave. Gabriel Locke, who had been filling in for her, was now filling in for Kyser.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Jack teased, getting tac's attention. They were all gathered in a large, nearly empty, warehouse-like room, which SWAT used to create training scenarios. Jack's words were met by a chorus of greetings, and the former Delta—close friends or at least friendly with all of them—started making the rounds, giving handshakes and hugs. "Glad to see Matty cares enough to send us the scrap heap."

"You're one to talk, Dalton," Ramirez chuckled with a sly grin.

"I speak only the truth," Jack grinned in response. "And the lovely Jada is back! Good to see you; how's motherhood treatin' ya?"

"It's been great," Jada told him with a laugh, her brown eyes sparkling. "Tim's with her, now. It's good to be back. I hear I missed a lot."

"Oh, not much, really," Jack shrugged, offering a coy smile.

"Alright, you two gossip girls can catch up later," Cassidy interrupted with a smirk. "We've got work to do."

"Right," Simmons cleared his throat and stepped forward, digging through a small duffle bag and producing three boxes: one square, one that looked like a glasses case, and a smaller, rectangular one. He handed the square box and glasses case to Mac and the remaining box to Jack.

"Presents from Matty and Jill," he explained. "Mac, you have a watch that will provide Riley with audio and GPS. One press of the side button turns it off, another turns it back on, and three quick presses sends out an SOS. You also have a pair of glasses that will provide video. The watch is linked to the glasses, so if you turn off the watch, you turn off the glasses. Jack, you have a GPS flare disguised as a keychain. When you get to the auction site, you drop the flare, and we move in once you and the buyers are gone. Riley, Boze, and my team will be stationed in a cabin about halfway between here and the diner; the setup there should provide a bit more processing power than a laptop, and that way, if something goes wrong, you've got at least a few people nearby to save your sorry asses. Riley will tag the buyers, they will be quietly arrested before leaving the country, and a lot of innocent people get the help they need."

"And everyone lives happily ever after," Ramirez teased with a grin. Jada elbowed him in the ribs, trying not to smile.

"Right," Carter laughed. "Well, you guys should get going; the diner's about a forty-five minute drive from here."

The Phoenix team murmured in agreement, and after a few parting words, they were on their way. Mac and Jack led the way in their rental car, followed by Riley and Bozer, and finally Simmons and his team in an armored 'utility' van. Once they were on the road, Riley texted Mac, asking him to turn on his watch and glasses for a test.

"Oh, wait, hold on," Jack stopped his partner before he could activate his watch, turning up the radio with a grin before signaling him. Mac chuckled, then turned on his watch's audio.

"'Cause I'm a cowboy," the former Delta belted out along with the radio. "On a steel horse I ride! And I'm wanted— _WANTED_ —dead or alive!"

Mac laughed out loud, especially when Riley snarkily suggested he audition for _American Idol_.

"I'm tellin' ya," Jack grinned when his partner relayed the message. "I got the voice of a damn angel."

The two of them laughed, settling in for the ride. About twenty minutes after their journey began, after they'd ventured into the mountains, the two rear vehicles of their convoy broke off, and Mac and Jack were on their own.

Another twenty-five minutes passed, the increasingly tense silence between the two partners broken only by the radio, before the diner came into view.

"Alright, Riley," Mac muttered, casting a slightly nervous glance in Jack's direction. "I hope you can hear us. We just arrived. Looks like we're some of the first."

There were six cars clustered in the diner's cracked front parking lot, and the two agents exchanged glances. This was it. Either they were gonna pull off one hell of a rescue mission, or they were walking right into a trap. Jack pulled their car into one of the empty spots and killed the engine. They sat there in silence for a minute or so, watching the place—there was hardly any light inside the structure, and they could make out several different silhouettes moving through what little light there was—until Jack popped open his door.

"Nothing's gonna get done by us just sittin' here," he said in response to Mac's questioning look, and the blond agent let out a sigh. He took just another moment to collect himself, then opened his door and stepped out onto the crumbling blacktop. Mac buttoned his suit jacket, and then he and Jack walked towards the diner's front door.

Jack made it there first and grabbed the door handle, glancing at Mac questioningly for a moment, and once his partner gave him a nod, he pulled the door open. A set of old jingle bells alerted those inside to their arrival. The two agents were met by about five armed men spread out amongst the run-down booths, all of them getting to their feet when they stepped inside. One of them walked over to them and grabbed a tablet resting on a half-wall framing the booth nearest the door, quickly unlocking it.

"Name?" he asked, barely glancing at them.

"Thomas McCormick," Mac replied easily, forcing himself to appear relaxed. According to Andrew, every buyer had to give a name—even if it was an alias—so that it could be matched with a personalized...

"And your verification word, Mr. McCormick?" the man asked after finding Mac's false name on the list.

"Sapphire," the word rolled off his tongue effortlessly. The security guard—a tall, formidable-looking man with a shaved head—nodded in acceptance, tapping a few times on the screen, then glanced at Jack.

"Name?"

"Jack Mercer," Jack replied without missing a beat. There was a pause as the guard found the name.

"Verification word?"

"Jellyfish."

"Good. And you're his security?"

"Yes I am."

"Perfect," the guard let out a breath and put the tablet back where he found it as another guard came up beside him. "Now, if you'll both follow me."

He started walking back towards the kitchen, and the Phoenix agents followed him, the second guard taking up the rear. In the kitchen area, Mac and Jack were met by a smiling, well-dressed man with dark hair, in his late thirties or early forties.

"Welcome," he greeted them cheerfully. "Mr. McCormick and his security, Mr. Mercer, correct?"

"Yes," Mac confirmed, and he and Jack both shook his outstretched hand, pretending as if doing so didn't make their skin crawl.

"Nice to meet you," the man said with a charming smile. "I'm Oliver Preston; I'm coordinating tonight's festivities. May I ask what it is you're shopping for tonight?"

"Whatever catches my eye," Mac replied with an easy smile and slight shrug, hiding how his stomach churned.

"Excellent," Preston chuckled. "Now, as you know, client safety and privacy are our top priorities, so our security team will be sweeping you for weapons and transmissions before we take you to join the rest of the guests at the party."

"Of course," Mac nodded, pretending to adjust his sleeve and in the process pressing the button on the side of the watch, turning both it and his glasses off. Behind them, the guard who'd checked them in picked up the metal detector wand that had been resting on the long-forgotten prep table, and the second guard picked up a device similar to the wand that scanned for transmissions. The check-in guard started with Jack, and the other guard started with Mac, and when they were done, they switched. Their cell phones were taken, and when Mac's Swiss Army knife was inevitably found, Preston raised an eyebrow at him. Mac gave a shrug.

"Sorry," he apologized casually. "Force of habit; been carrying that thing around since I was a kid."

"It's not a problem," Preston assured him. "Of course we can't allow you to take it—or your phones—to the party."

As he spoke, he reached over and grabbed a plastic bin from a wire shelving unit on his right. The two security guards placed their confiscated items in the bin, and then Preston returned it to its place on the shelf.

"You can pick those up when you get back," he promised as Mac quickly turned his watch and glasses back on. "Now, I'm sure you both would like to get on your way, but there's just one more bit of unpleasant business to take care of."

"Which would be?" Mac raised an eyebrow as Jack stiffened just slightly.

"Well, as I said before, client safety and privacy are our top priorities," Preston explained. "That's the reason we have all our guests meet out here before we take them to join the party. No one knows where the festivities take place, so no one can spill the beans. But, to ensure that..."

Preston reached into another, deeper plastic bin resting on the kitchen prep space and plucked out two black hoods and two sets of zip ties, and Mac blinked at him.

"I gotta be honest," he said after a moment, keeping his voice steady, "I expected the black hoods about halfway through that little speech, but...zip ties?"

"We've found that our guests have a tendency to get curious," Preston shrugged. "The ties eliminate the temptation to remove the hood prematurely."

Mac and Jack looked at each other, and they could immediately tell that they were thinking the same thing: they were in trouble. This was almost definitely a trap. Not even for security would the average buyer allow themselves to be restrained like this. Of course, that didn't mean the op couldn't be salvaged. If they played along, then maybe...

"Then by all means," Mac said at last, turning back to Preston with an easy grin. Preston smiled right back at him, handing one hood and one tie to each of the two guards behind them. Mac and Jack shared one more glance before each was blinded by the dark, heavy fabric, and their wrists were soon bound behind their backs.

"Good," Preston approved. "Collins and Rosen will take you to the car. I hope you have a _wonderful_ time tonight, gentlemen."

Mac and Jack both felt a hand on their arms, guiding them through the kitchen and out the back door, into the night air. In just a few seconds, they were both sliding into the back seat of some kind of large vehicle.

Although expecting it, Mac couldn't help but jump when he felt a needle stab into his neck, injecting something that stung into his muscle, the sensation sending unpleasant memories of desolate roads, gravel shoulders, and gunshots flooding back. Judging by the sharp breath and small grunt from the other side of the car, Jack received the same treatment.

"What the hell?" the blond agent demanded with a trembling voice, trying to keep some semblance of a cover; he couldn't deny that he was an agent if he acted like one. He could hear Jack struggling beside him, clearly having the same idea.

"Just relax," it was Preston's voice again, full of amusement when he spoke. Mac didn't even hear him follow them out, and for a moment he wondered why he'd done so. The blond agent felt his muscles begin to relax, just as they had that night, making him panic and aiding in the show he was trying to put on.

"Is everyone clear?" Preston sounded as though he were far away, though Mac was sure he hadn't moved any farther away. Another voice responded, but Mac couldn't tell what was said, no matter how hard he tried to listen. Preston replied to whomever spoke, but Mac still couldn't pick out the words. The blond man felt himself get pulled by the arm closer to the door, and he gave a small grunt of discomfort, which in turn caused Jack to struggle harder, offering a few slurred threats. A hand closed around Mac's wrist, and then he heard Preston's voice one more time.

The explosion took both agents by surprise, the shockwave ripping through them as bright light faintly pierced the thick black fabric covering their faces. The heat of it warmed their skin through the open car doors, at odds with the cold adrenaline that dumped into their blood. Both agents felt their panic grow.

"Jack," his partner's name fell from Mac's lips almost against his will as his heart pounded against his ribcage. He heard Jack mutter a curse under his breath, and the younger agent let the sound comfort him. At least, this time, he knew Jack was alive.

Whomever had grabbed Mac released him and shoved him farther into the car, slamming the door shut behind him. Before long, warm numbness began to move through the blond agent's skull, and his struggles grew weaker and weaker until both he and Jack were pulled into unconsciousness.

* * *

 **Whoo! First chapter in the books. The review is up next, and then you guys are in for one hell of an exam. I hope you guys enjoyed this one; I definitely had fun writing it. P** **lease let me know what you all thought, and I will see you next time.**


	2. Lecture 2

**Hey, y'all! I know, it's been a while. Sorry. So many times I thought I was close to posting, but it seems that (obviously) I needed that second lecture chapter after all, and I didn't want to admit that for a while. Then when I did decide that, I wanted to write the rest of what I had to write until the exam so I could then decide where to cut it. Buuuut I'm an impatient asshole, so here we are.**

 **Anyway, some of you may have noticed that I upped the rating on this one. That is for good reason. This chapter? Not bad. Next chapter, though...I picked one HELLUVA subject for their pre-exam mission, guys, but I will put in the appropriate warnings when the time comes and do everything in my power to let people skip the more uncomfortable bits if they desire while not missing out on any main plot points.  
**

 **But that's enough from me. As always, my gratitude to Haven126** **cannot be overstated. Without her, this story would not exist. Now, on with the show!**

* * *

Riley was sitting at a desk in the cabin, three screens in front of her. Two of them were front and center, with the one on the left showing the feed from Mac's glasses with a facial recognition program ready and waiting and the one on the right showing infrared satellite coverage of the diner. She'd already patched Matty in; their boss was watching both screens from the war room. The third screen was her laptop, which was still running a few searches regarding the information Andrew had given. Bozer was seated behind her, and Simmons' team was standing around the room, still geared up but relaxed, talking amongst themselves as they waited for Mac and Jack to arrive at the diner.

The analyst was chewing on her thumbnail nervously, her eyes continuously flicking to her laptop, hoping and praying that it would tell her something that would let them call this whole plan off. Ramirez's laughter pulled her attention, and she and Bozer both turned to see him leaning back as he laughed, his phone in his hand.

"What the hell is so funny?" Jada demanded, though she was biting back a smile.

"Kyser," Ramirez choked out, still laughing so hard that tears were gathering in his eyes. Since being diagnosed with partial paralysis of his legs, Ramirez had volunteered to let his colleague move into his spare room. Seeing as the layout of Ramirez's open concept, ranch-style house was a bit more wheelchair-friendly than Kyser's narrow-halled apartment, he'd agreed. Simmons gave Ramirez a disapproving look, even as his eyes sparked with amusement, and snatched his phone from his hand.

"God, what did you do to the poor guy?" he grumbled with a sigh, looking at the screen. He read through a few messages, and everyone watched it become progressively harder for him to hold back his laughter, until the end when he just couldn't do it anymore, bursting out laughing just as Ramirez had.

"You are _such_ an asshole, Ricardo," his boss scolded half-heartedly, handing the phone off to Locke when he reached for it, allowing him, Jada, Reeves, and Dixon to crowd around the screen.

"Oh, c'mon," Ramirez scoffed. "If I stopped pranking him because he went and got shot, he'd feel like I thought he was somehow 'less than.' He should have normalcy in his time of need."

"And this has nothing to do with him being your favorite prank target since day one," Simmons gave him a knowing smirk as their colleagues all started laughing and Locke passed the phone off to Riley, allowing her and Bozer to cluster around the screen.

"What?" Ramirez feigned offense at the implication. "No, never."

"Uh-huh," Simmons rolled his eyes, and Riley and Bozer turned to see what they were on about.

The first message in the exchange was a photo from Kyser of a void in the clutter of an end table.

 _Where are my gummy worms?_

Ramirez took a few minutes to reply.

 _What gummy worms?_

Kyser caught on quickly and cut to the chase.

 _...Eric what the fuck did you do with my gummy worms?_

Ramirez simply replied with the angel emoji.

Nearly twenty minutes passed before Kyser sent another message. This time, it was a series of photos. The first showed one of the upper cabinets in Ramirez's kitchen. The next was of the same cabinet, opened. The third was of the same open cabinet, zoomed in on the top shelf, where Kyser's bag of gummy worms sat proudly.

Bozer and Riley, already laughing, could almost hear the text that followed.

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_

 _I'm helping you set goals and aspirations, Mark._

 _I will kill you._

 _Hey, now, no need to get nasty; I left something to help you._

This was followed up by two more pictures from Kyser. The first was of a sticky note with "Reach for the stars" scrawled on it in Ramirez's handwriting, and the second was of a cheap t-rex grabber toy.

 _This thing isn't strong enough to grab a sock off the ground; it won't grab a 1 lb bag of gummy worms._

 _Won't know til you try._

Another picture, this time of the grabber in the air in front of the cabinet, the t-rex head only reaching the middle of the second of three shelves.

 _It doesn't even reach you asshole!_

 _Not with that attitude it doesn't._

 _I hate you._

 _No you don't._

 _I know where you sleep._

 _I'm fairly certain I could outrun you at this point._

 _You are the worst_

 _But your life would be humorless without me_

 _Listen to me: I am going to get my gummy worms, and you are not gonna be happy with how I do it._

 _I'm trembling._

 _You should be._

Ramirez hadn't responded to that one, but according to the phone, Kyser was typing. In a few moments, they were met with an image of the bag of gummy worms in their wounded colleague's lap, followed immediately by an image of Kyser gleefully chomping on a gummy worm, wearing a smug grin. Riley called Ricardo over so he could see.

"What?" Ramirez blinked in shock and snatched the phone back, quickly texting Kyser back.

 _How'd you manage that?_

 _I warned you._

 _Mark. How?_

There was a pause, and everyone in the room watched Ramirez's face as Kyser sent his reply. Once the message was received, Ramirez's eyes grew wide, his jaw dropping in shock. His team, gathered around him, began laughing hysterically, and Riley quickly swiped the phone back so she and Bozer could see.

Kyser's response was a photo of Ricardo's kitchen, the upper cabinet still open, with the contents of the top shelf (and several items from the lower two shelves) scattered around the countertop and floor. The top shelf had been broken in half, and Kyser's tool of choice—a sledgehammer—was standing up against the cabinet below. Kyser's caption was short and sweet.

 _You're gonna need a new shelf._

Like the tac team, Riley and Bozer burst out laughing, and Ramirez took his phone back, looking angry for a moment before he cracked a smile.

"Alright," he nodded. "I had that one coming."

"You really did," Simmons agreed through his laughter.

"Hey, guys," Bozer interrupted them and pulled their focus back to the screens as he pointed. "Mac and Jack just pulled up to the meet."

Riley was immediately all business, turning back to the screens as her colleagues gathered around.

"Matty, picture still clear on your end?" she asked, watching as Mac and Jack turned into the parking lot.

"Crystal," Matty confirmed.

"Carter, can you guys hear this?" the analyst continued, having patched tac and SWAT into Mac's audio feed.

"Loud and clear," Carter assured her.

"Alright, Riley," they heard Mac's quiet, somewhat-apprehensive voice say as he looked over at Jack. "I hope you can hear us. We just arrived. Looks like we're some of the first."

Jack pulled into an empty space, parked, and killed the engine, and they all lapsed into a tense silence as they watched a few silhouettes moving in front of the windows. It got so quiet that Riley jumped slightly when Jack popped open his door. Mac looked over at him, and the older agent shrugged.

"Nothing's gonna get done by us just sittin' here," he said evenly before stepping out and pushing his door shut. Mac let out a breath, taking another moment before opening his door as well, stepping out. There was another short pause, and then Mac and Jack walked towards the diner's front door. Jack got there first, grabbing the handle before looking back at Mac, his eyes questioning. The picture bobbed as Mac nodded, and Jack's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile before he opened the door, walking in first with Mac on his heels. The jingle bells at the top of the door made a dull, sickly sound, alerting those inside to their arrival. They watched as a tall man with a shaved head approached, picking up the waiting tablet.

"Name?" the guard asked as facial recognition began to do its job. Mac gave his alias's name seamlessly, even as Riley's stomach churned.

"And your verification word, Mr. McCormick?" the man asked after finding Mac's false name on the list.

"Sapphire," Mac replied.

"So far so good," Simmons muttered, his arms folded tightly over his chest. Nobody said anything, and Riley's eyes searched the image, trying to find even the slightest detail out of place. Anything to have an excuse to send tac in and pull the plug on this whole operation. The very idea of it still gave her a cold pit in her stomach. Something was very wrong; she knew it was. She just couldn't explain what.

The guard repeated the process with Jack, and thankfully, they both passed the first test with flying colors. Their colleagues were led towards the kitchen, where a well-dressed man greeted them and introduced himself as Oliver Preston. Riley immediately shifted over to her laptop and started running the name. It probably wasn't real, but it couldn't hurt to check.

"Now, as you know," Preston was saying, "client safety and privacy are our top priorities, so our security team will be sweeping you for weapons and transmissions before we take you to join the rest of the guests at the party."

"Of course," Mac agreed, and a heartbeat later, the feed cut out. The moment the screen went dark, Riley felt her stomach drop, and her eyes flicked to her second screen. It still showed all thirteen occupants—three guards up front, the group of five in the kitchen, two in a side room off the kitchen, and three in cars out back—right where they always were. Unfortunately, the satellite was moving out of position, and they were about to be blind for seven minutes until the next satellite came into position—which Riley _had_ warned them about, of course, and of course, Mac and Jack had both called it an acceptable risk, despite her best efforts to convince them otherwise. If Mac didn't give them their eyes back in the next five minutes, they were screwed; if they disappeared in that seven-minute window, it would be extremely difficult to pick them up again.

Seconds passed like hours. Riley fidgeted in her seat, visibly uncomfortable as her eyes darted back and forth between the two screens, begging for Mac to turn his watch back on. The silence in the room was suffocating. At last, Riley couldn't take it anymore.

"It's been too long," she grumbled, shaking her head.

"They haven't moved," Simmons assured her, nodding at her second screen.

"If he doesn't turn his watch back on in three minutes, I'm gonna lose them," the analyst argued anxiously.

"Okay, then, if he's not back online in three minutes, we'll head out," the team leader promised.

"Simmons is right, Riley," Matty spoke up. "Let our boys work."

Before Riley could protest further, Mac's picture and audio came back, and everyone let out an audible sigh of relief. Mac and Jack were still standing in front of Preston, who was turning away from the wire shelving unit on his right, where Riley could see Mac's Swiss Army knife and presumably both his and Jack's cell phones in a clear plastic bin.

"—up when you get back," Preston was saying as he turned back to face their colleagues. "Now, I'm sure you both would like to get on your way, but there's just one more bit of unpleasant business to take care of."

"Which would be?" they could hear the uncertainty in Mac's voice, and the tension in the room increased drastically.

"Don't like that sound of that," Ramirez grumbled.

"Well, as I said before, client safety and privacy are our top priorities," Preston explained. "That's the reason we have all our guests meet out here before we take them to join the party. No one knows where the festivities take place, so no one can spill the beans. But, to ensure that..."

Preston reached into another, deeper plastic bin resting on the kitchen prep space and plucked out two black hoods and two sets of zip ties.

"Oh hell no," Jada shook her head vigorously.

"Mac, don't you dare," Riley warned, her voice muffled by her hands, which were covering her nose and mouth.

"I gotta be honest," Mac's apprehension was obvious in his tone. "I expected the black hoods about halfway through that little speech, but...zip ties?"

"We've found that our guests have a tendency to get curious," Preston shrugged. "The ties eliminate the temptation to remove the hood prematurely."

Mac looked over at Jack, and their colleagues could read his poker face well enough by now to know that they both thought this was a horrible idea. They knew it was indeed a trap. If they agreed to Preston's request, they were essentially signing their death warrants. But what else could they do? They watched the silent conversation between the two partners, and then Mac turned back to Preston.

"Then by all means," he said evenly.

"What the hell?" Bozer gaped.

"What are they _doing_?" Riley demanded, lurching upright.

"Nah, my boy is not this stupid," Bozer shook his head. "He has a plan."

"Yeah," Simmons gave a grim sigh, his very tone cuing his team to start checking their gear and move towards the cabin door. On the screen, Preston smiled right back at Mac, handing one hood and one tie to each of the two guards behind them. "His plan is to make sure he and Jack aren't shot for refusing. They got no choice; they have to agree. Matty, I'm moving my team in. Carter, bring SWAT; we're pulling them out of there. Riley keep us posted; let's go!"

The six operatives, all traces of humor gone from them, rushed out of the cabin, and Riley and Bozer turned back to the screens. By then, Mac's video feed had been blocked by the thick black hood, and Preston was speaking again.

"Collins and Rosen will take you to the car. I hope you have a _wonderful_ time tonight, gentlemen."

Mac and Jack didn't answer. Their two colleagues heard them start walking, and Riley heard what she assumed was the back door open.

"I think they're taking them out back, Simmons," she reported urgently.

"We're at least fifteen minutes out," the team leader replied, his tone grave.

"Well hurry up!" Bozer urged, his voice tight and anxious. They heard Mac and Jack both inhale sharply and make small noises of pain, and their stomachs dropped.

"What the hell?" Mac's voice shook when he spoke. Preston's voice returned, telling him to relax. Riley looked over at her second screen, but the satellite was out of position; she had no idea where anyone was.

"Talk to us, Riley; what's going on?" Carter demanded, sounding nervous.

"I don't know," Riley couldn't hide her distress. She reached over and tried zooming out on the satellite coverage, just barely managing to get the diner back in frame. She could no longer distinguish individual heat signatures, only that there was a large heat cluster out behind the diner and a much smaller cluster inside the building. "Almost everyone has moved outside, but at least one person is still inside; that's all I can tell."

They heard Mac grunt and slide across a seat, followed by Jack's slurred voice threatening to slit the throat of anyone who so much as laid a finger on Mac. Other voices chuckled, and then they heard muffled, more distant voices and footsteps retreating, Mac's heavy breathing making it hard to hear.

The explosion took everyone by surprise, lighting up the thermal image completely before the satellite finally slid out of range. In the same instant, Mac's watch and glasses cut out completely, as though he'd turned them off again—or they'd been destroyed.

"What the hell was that?" Ramirez sputtered in shock and horror.

"Oh, my God," Riley breathed, her voice strangled.

"Carter, we need you guys," Simmons' tone shifted to level-headed professionalism. "And send the fire department, too; we just saw one hell of a fireball up ahead."

"Were they inside?" Carter asked. Riley didn't answer, staring at her screens with one trembling hand over her mouth, horror in her eyes.

"Riley!" Matty's voice made the analyst jump. "Were they inside?"

"I don't know," Riley's words shook. They'd heard what sounded like a door, and Riley had assumed it was the back door, but they hadn't actually seen Mac and Jack's heat signatures leave the building; the satellite had been too far out of position. "I don't know—I...someone was inside, but I don't know who."

Someone was inside. There was at least one heat signature inside the building when it blew up. Someone was definitely inside.

Riley's body went cold. It was like she forgot how to breathe. Tears were gathering in her eyes, and she thought she was going to be sick. Oh, God, someone was inside. A devastating thought made its way, unbidden, into her mind.

Did they just watch Mac and Jack die?

* * *

Pain flared in Mac's neck as he fought to pry his eyes open. His skull throbbed in time with his pulse, and he rolled his head to the left, trying to find a better position.

"Well, look who finally decided to come around," Mac flinched back from the voice, finding it far too loud. "We got a couple of Sleeping Beauties on our hands."

Mac didn't say anything, his eyebrows bunching as he tried to clear his thoughts. Someone reached out and grabbed his chin, but Mac immediately jerked away, his stomach churning as a sense of déjà vu washed over him.

"Leave 'im alone," Jack's voice was husky and a little slurred as he growled the words, but hearing it allowed Mac to relax a bit, comforted by its presence. Of course, any relief he might have felt disappeared almost immediately when he heard the older man give a short yelp. The blond man forced his eyelids apart, blinking his vision clear and trying to locate his partner.

Jack was positioned about three and a half feet to his right in a metal chair that was bolted to the concrete floor beneath him. His suit jacket, tie, and belt were gone, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. His wrists were secured with thick cable ties to each of the arms of the chair, and duct tape encircled his chest and bound his ankles to the chair legs. Mac, still a little dazed, tried to get up, only to find that he was in the same predicament.

"Yeah, I'd get comfy if I were you," that first voice chuckled. "You're not going anywhere any time soon."

"What's going on?" Mac's voice was weak and scratchy, and he cleared his throat. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere your friends won't find us."

Mac blinked a few more times, trying to remember what happened. Clearly, since Jack was with him, a mission had gone wrong, but what...

"What the hell are you talking about?" the blond agent shook his head slightly, his memory of the evening's events rushing back to him as he tried to maintain what illusion of a cover he could. "What friends?"

"Oh, let's skip that part," Mac followed the voice, locating its source and finding the guard who'd checked them in standing near a small table about four feet from Mac's chair. He wasn't alone; Preston was sitting down near the far wall, straddling his chair and resting his arms on the chair's back, studying them. He'd taken off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. "The confusion, the denial...it's all so tedious, so predictable. And such a waste of time, too."

"What...?" Mac started to talk again, but was quickly cut off.

"Just drop it," Preston rolled his eyes. "We know you're federal agents. The only question is which agency you work for."

Mac and Jack both gawked at him, laughing in nervous amusement.

"We're not feds," Jack denied. "As if any self-respecting agency would ever hire either of us, least of all to be field agents."

"Not that it isn't cute to see you both struggle," a third voice joined them, and Mac and Jack both looked over their shoulders to see the second guard who'd escorted them into the kitchen leaning against the back wall. "But this charade isn't doing anyone any favors. There's no sense in denying it; we know. And even if we didn't know before you ever even got to the diner..."

The check-in guard picked up Mac's watch and glasses from the table and held them up, and it was only then that Mac realized that both items were missing. "No one but a fed would wear gadgets like these to go to an auction."

Mac and Jack glanced at each other, grim looks on their faces. Their captors laughed at them, amused by their obvious uneasiness.

"Rosen," Preston got the attention of the guard standing behind the two agents, "go do something with those."

He nodded in the direction of Mac's confiscated equipment, and the man stepped forward and took them from the other guard—who must have been Collins, if Mac recalled correctly—before retreating back behind them. The two agents heard a door open and shut, and then they were alone with Collins and Preston.

"Now, listen, guys," Preston continued. "We don't want this to get ugly. But, someone has been making business very difficult for us lately, and the boss wants to know who. If you tell us now, this doesn't have to get unpleasant. Your friends aren't going to find you; assuming your people were watching on satellite—thermal or otherwise—we had decoy cars and left while the area was consumed by a fireball. They will never be able to pick out which car's which. We left two spares in the diner that are your approximate heights and builds; that'll keep 'em busy for at least a few hours, if not a day or two. By the time they even realize you're still alive, our trail will be ice cold. There is literally no advantage to you keeping quiet. So just save us all some trouble and tell us what we need to know."

Mac swallowed hard, glancing over at Jack. Obviously, neither was even considering the offer, but that didn't mean Preston's breakdown of how royally screwed they were wasn't concerning to say the least. A minute or so passed before Preston let out a sigh.

"C'mon, guys," he groaned irritably. "Help us settle the bet. I've got my money on FBI, Collins is thinking ICE, and I thought Rosen was gonna either side with one of us or go DEA or something, but he pulled out an acronym I'd never even heard of. NICS? NSIC? CNIS? I dunno—something along those lines. Says it's because we pissed off the Navy, which, I mean, that's true, but still, if he's right then Collins and I lose twenty bucks."

"So let me just...get this straight," Jack sighed, shifting in his chair.

"Sure," Preston allowed with a good-natured smile.

"According to you, we're never going to be found," the former Delta's tone was surprisingly steady, and it helped Mac calm his racing heart. "You sure as hell aren't going to let either one of us go when this is over, whether we tell you anything or not. So no matter what, we're gonna die. So, then, in your mind...what the hell is our motivation to tell you shit?"

"We break people down for a living," Collins reminded him. "No one stays strong forever."

"Yeah, but the people you break down don't have death as an out," Jack scoffed. "We tell you, we die; we don't tell you, you get frustrated, you give up, and we die—but we get to piss you off, first. So we don't have to last forever; we just have to outlast you."

"And that's all assuming we'll never be found," Mac chimed in, forcing his body to relax. "Now, I'll admit that it's gonna be difficult and it might take them some time, but...you don't know our people. They'll find us. They won't stop until they do."

"So basically, no matter which one of us is right," Jack continued, "staying quiet is our best bet. That way, either our people find us, or you kill us and get nothing. You'll never be able to get your hands on another agent after us, so we don't have that to worry about. I hate to break it to you, gentlemen, but as it stands, if we tell you what you want to know, we lose, but if we don't tell you, then no matter which one of us is right about us being found, we win. Or, at least, we sure as hell don't lose. Now, I dunno 'bout you, but I like winning. McCormick, you like winning?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," the blond agent confirmed, not even flinching at the mention of his alias.

"Well, then, it looks like you're out of luck," Jack shrugged as he turned back to their captors. Collins and Preston both laughed.

"Y'know, we've had a few of our guests come in with similar attitudes," Collins told them. "Most of them are crying and screaming and begging like little _bitches_ when they arrive, but every once in awhile, we'll get one with a mouth on 'em. And every single time, they break down within a few hours, a day at best. You two won't be any different."

"I guess we'll see," Mac shrugged.

"That we will," Collins smirked at him, then turned his attention to the table he stood beside. Studying it, Mac saw that it contained a bag of disposable syringes, glass bottles containing God knew what, and a dark blue plastic container that he couldn't see inside. The young agent shifted uncomfortably, not looking forward to being injected with yet another unknown drug. This as getting to be a habit for him.

As Mac and Jack both watched his every move, Collins plucked a syringe from the bag, removed the cap, and picked up one of the glass bottles, inserting the needle into the top and beginning to draw up the appropriate dose. When he was finished, he put the bottle down unhurriedly, turning to the two trapped agents.

"Now earlier, you," he pointed at Jack and took a couple steps towards them, "were very insistent that if any of us hurt him," he gestured to Mac with the syringe, "you would kill us all. Slit our throats, I think you said."

"And I meant it," Jack growled, and the plastic of the cable ties creaked as he re-tested his bonds. Their captors would mistake the crow's feet around his eyes as an expression of anger, but Mac knew better. Jack was getting closer to panic with every step Collins took towards them.

Towards him.

Mac forced reassurance into his expression as he stared back at the older man, but he could tell that it did little to calm his partner's fears. Collins' laughter pulled the blond man's attention, and Mac turned his head to look. The man was standing just a few inches in front of him, the look in his eyes sending a chill down Mac's spine.

"We'll see," although he never took his eyes off Mac, it was clear that his words were intended for Jack. The young agent met his gaze evenly, not allowing even an ounce of fear to be visible on his face. Collins smirked at him, then leaned in closer and clapped a meaty hand firmly on the flesh joining Mac's right shoulder to his neck, directly over the site of the first injection. The guard began steadily applying pressure, pinning him back against the metal chair and tightening his grip on the agent's sore muscles. Mac managed to keep silent until the man's thumb dug deeply enough into the hollow of his throat to extract a small moan of pain. Mac glared at him despite it, trying to shake his hand off, but to no avail. The guard's smirk became a smile, and when he spoke again, he lowered his voice, as if he didn't want Jack to overhear.

"Don't worry," his tone was anything but reassuring, "we won't make you have all the fun."

Mac didn't respond, trying to steady his breathing. Collins was staring far too intensely into the blond man's eyes, making his stomach churn as he fought the instinct to look away, knowing that any sign of weakness would be exploited. He was so singularly focused on not allowing himself to look away that he almost didn't notice when the older man inserted the needle into his calf muscle, injecting whatever it was that the syringe contained. The sudden, sharp pain finally, involuntarily pulled Mac's gaze as he drew a breath, and he was just in time to see the needle get drawn out of his leg. The sharp twinge made him wince, and he looked back at Collins in confusion.

His confusion soon vanished. The sensation started out bearable enough—a slight stiffness, a bit of tightening in his calf muscle. But soon it began to build, his muscle fibers apparently pulling themselves apart inside his leg. Out of instinct, Mac tried to bend his knee more, desperate for some relief. His heart began racing, his breaths coming in short gasps through tightly clenched teeth. He couldn't look at Collins anymore; all his focus was on his leg, on the deep, piercing, searing pain that grew steadily worse with each passing second. The cramping tissues began to pull small whimpers from Mac's lips until he pressed them together to silence himself, his efforts only marginally successful. The blond agent forced himself to lean back in his chair, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to breathe through it.

"Mac," Jack's concerned voice pierced the visceral panic that had permeated his partner's mind, even though he couldn't make himself open his eyes. "Mac, you okay?"

Mac would have laughed if he could at the thought. It felt as though someone had his calf in a vice, compressing it from the top and bottom, tearing the tissues and ligaments apart. But still, he swallowed hard and forced himself to speak.

"I'm fine," he promised, the words pushed out through clenched teeth.

"Not for long," Collins chuckled, and Mac heard him step closer to his chair, although he hadn't even heard him retreat over the blood rushing in his ears. Mac pried his eyes apart and saw Collins approaching with two more syringes, one in each hand. Behind the guard, he saw Preston with another syringe, drawing up a drug from another bottle.

The blond agent flicked his eyes back to Collins, trying to prepare himself for what was next. The needle in the guard's left hand stuck into Mac's right calf, while the one in his right hand pierced into the left side of his abdominal muscles. The sudden pricks made him jump, which just made pain shoot up his left leg, forcing a strangled yelp from his throat. He heard Jack fighting his restraints beside him, heard him speak, but couldn't focus long enough to hear what he said.

Just like before, the pain started small, building steadily until Mac's breaths started coming in even shorter gasps, his cramping abdominal muscles making it hard for him to pull in deep breaths. His legs both felt like they were being ripped violently apart from the inside—even if they let him go, he couldn't dream of escaping, a fact that resurrected old memories and made his stomach twist and contort behind his spasming abdominals. As he forced the images from his mind, his exhales started to turn into whimpers, then groans, then short cries of agony as he doubled over as far as he was able, trying instinctively to lessen the strain on his muscles, though some part of him knew it wouldn't do any good.

Jack was calling his name again, but he couldn't hope to respond. He was just trying to breathe past the pain, tears falling unbidden from his eyes. He felt a hand grab his jaw and force his head up, making him groan pitifully. Someone snapped in front of his face a few times, and Mac opened his eyes to see Collins smirking at him.

"You just let us know when you've had enough," the guard said with a small chuckle before letting him go. Mac turned his head to see Preston standing just out of Jack's head-striking range, inserting a needle into his arm and injecting something into his bloodstream. The former Delta looked his way, and the two of them locked eyes for a moment. A thought shot between them, so clear it was like they'd said it out loud.

They might not be getting out of this one.

* * *

Simmons looked around the area where the diner used to stand, his body tense and his mouth a thin line. The building had been reduced to rubble and ruins, with more than half of it collapsed and several small fires still burning. Around him, the fire department was scrambling about to prevent the flames from catching on the dry brush around them, digging through the rubble, and marking off areas they deemed unsafe.

They'd already pulled two bodies out of the debris. Or, at least, they'd tried; one was still half buried. Both were burned beyond recognition. One was missing a couple limbs, and the other's skull was crushed. Simmons' team was helping excavate the site, trying to find all the evidence they possibly could. So far, all the coroner had been able to determine was each of the deceased's approximate heights and weights. Based on that, it looked as though it was possible—maybe even probable—that the bodies were Mac and Jack.

The very thought made Simmons sick to his stomach, and he quickly pushed it away; height and weight were anything but conclusive. For this reason, the other teams, along with several members of SWAT, were searching the surrounding area for any sign of either the missing agents or their potential kidnappers.

The tac team leader jumped a bit when he heard his phone ringing, and he quickly retrieved it, already anticipating who was calling. He answered with a tired, "Yeah?"

"Sitrep, Simmons," Matty demanded, obviously avoiding coms to prevent Riley from overhearing. It was just as well; Simmons and his team had all turned off their coms for the same reason. "Now."

"It's not good," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "The explosion completely took down about half the building. We're waiting for the fire department to tell us if it's safe to go into the part that's still standing. The only car remaining in the parking lot is the one Mac and Jack arrived in. My team is on site, helping with the excavation, and the rest of tac and SWAT are searching the surrounding area for any sign of where they might have gone."

"I'm sensing a 'but,'" Matty prompted gravely when Simmons finished speaking.

" _But_ ," Simmons swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure, "we recovered two bodies. Both male, both too burnt to ID with anything but DNA or dental records. Without doing any tests, all we know is that they, ah...they're about the same height and weight as Mac and Jack. They also had melted plastic around their wrists, probably from cable ties. One of them is missing limbs, and the other's skull is crushed. Obviously, we can't conclusively say it's them without an autopsy, but it—"

"It's not looking good," Matty finished his sentence for him.

"No, ma'am," Simmons confirmed.

"Simmons!" Ramirez called over to his team leader from the debris-filled back parking lot, and the team leader made his way towards him, telling Matty to hold that thought.

"What is it?" Simmons asked, his eyes drawn to something bright red in his colleague's gloved hand.

"Found this on the ground," Ramirez held the red object out to him, and Simmons felt his stomach lurch.

"We found Mac's knife," Simmons reported to Matty, heaving a sigh as he took the knife from Ramirez's outstretched hand, examining it. It was almost untouched, with just a few scratches, a fact that made the team leader frown.

"Doesn't look like it was in the blast at all," he told his boss, turning the knife over in his hand. "Almost seems like it was dropped on the way out to the car; Ramirez found it in the back parking lot."

"I see where you wanna go with this, Simmons," Matty's voice was grim, "but just because the knife wasn't in the blast doesn't mean those bodies aren't Mac and Jack; those bastards took it from him before we lost visual."

"You're right," Simmons suppressed a groan. "You're right...we'll keep you posted, Matty."

"Okay," Matty took a deep breath. "I'll put some pressure on the coroner's office. We'll know for sure by tomorrow."

As they said their goodbyes, Simmons' eyes were drawn by a commotion at what used to be the front of the building. He turned and was just in time to see Jada intercept a very distraught Riley, Bozer at her heels. The team leader cursed under his breath, shoving his phone and Mac's knife into his pocket as he and Ramirez both ran towards the analyst.

"—need you to calm down, Riley," Jada's voice was soothing and gentle as she spoke, grabbing the analyst's shoulders.

"Is that them?" Riley demanded with tears in her eyes, pointing to the body bags being wheeled towards the coroner's vehicle. "Is that them? Were they inside?"

"Riley, we don't know," Simmons told her calmly, his expression full of sympathy.

"What the hell do you mean, you don't know?" Bozer's voice was only slightly less panicked than Riley's. "How can you not know?"

"Boze, the building exploded," Ramirez reminded him gently. "We...we need dental records to identify them."

"Oh my God," Riley was trembling visibly, and Simmons and Ramirez exchanged glances as Simmons took a small step towards her. "Oh my God, I told you guys! I told you all this was a trap; why wouldn't you _listen_ to me?"

"Riley," Simmons began, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Riley knocked his hand away and pushed him back with a two-handed shove.

"I told you!" the analyst shouted as Simmons took a couple stumbling steps back. Riley followed him, all of her anger and fear unleashing on him, striking out at his chest with tightly-clenched fists, another hit accompanying every exclamation. "I told you! I told all of you! I told you something was wrong and look what happened! Mac and Jack are either _dead_ or _God_ knows where! And all because you people wouldn't _listen!_ "

Simmons absorbed the hits easily, grateful for the extra padding his vest provided. For several seconds, he just stood there, letting her get her anger out, until he finally reached out and grabbed her arms between her elbows and her shoulders.

"Riley," his voice was firm, but not angry. "Riley, stop it. Riley!"

His voice finally seemed to reach her, and she stopped her assault, glaring furiously at him as tears forged paths down her face. The team leader gave her a sympathetic look before he continued.

"I know you're upset," he said gently but firmly, his eyes locked on hers, "but fighting isn't going to help right now. Whether those bodies we found are Mac and Jack or not, we have a job to do. If it is them, then we have to find their killers. If it's not them, then we have to find them. Until we know for sure, we have to assume that Mac and Jack are still alive. They need you to be calm and focused. They need you to find them."

"How?" Riley demanded tearfully, her voice trembling with frustration and anger. "I have no satellite coverage of when the cars drove away; I don't know how you expect me to find them when I have _nothing_ to go on."

"That's not true," Simmons shook his head. "You know where they were last, and you know how long they've been gone, and you know how far they could have possibly gotten. You, therefore, have a search radius. Start there."

Riley took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to calm down. After a moment or two, she nodded and looked up at him. Simmons offered a sympathetic smile, giving her arms a reassuring squeeze before letting her go.

"Go back to the car, Riley," he advised. "Go back to the cabin. Get back to work; Mac and Jack need all of us to keep our heads right now, regardless of where they are. Okay?"

Again, the young woman nodded, then turned and started back towards the car.

"I'll be there in a sec, Riley," Bozer promised. When the analyst was out of earshot, Bozer turned to Simmons.

"What do you know?" he demanded. "You might not know for sure if it's them, but you know something; don't tell me you don't. I can tell."

Simmons, Ramirez, and Jada all looked at each other, and then Simmons gave his two companions a nod, urging them back to work. As they walked away, the team leader turned to his colleague.

"Both bodies are male," he began with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. "Not sure on ages. Both match the approximate heights and builds of Mac and Jack. Both had melted plastic around their wrists, like from cable ties. We also found this," he pulled Mac's knife from his pocket, "out back. It wasn't in the rubble, really, and barely has a scratch on it, but before you get excited like I did, remember that Mac didn't have this with him when we lost visual."

Bozer swallowed hard, taking the knife from Simmons' hand and examining it. Simmons could practically see his heart sink.

"Hey, Boze, we're gonna find them," the older man assured him. "Whatever that means, we're gonna find out what happened. There's no sense in worrying too much; it's not like there's anything you can do to change what's already happened. Just go back with Riley; we will let you know what we find."

With this, he gently redirected the agent towards the car where Riley waited, allowing him to keep his best friend's knife, and stood there watching until he got behind the wheel and drove away. When they were gone, he turned back to the site, his expression grim as people milled about around him. He didn't want to let it show, but he was very much nervous; either they'd just pulled Mac and Jack's mutilated bodies out of the rubble, or their friends were God knew where with people who...Simmons' team had been sent after these people on two previous occasions, which was why they'd been sent again. What they'd seen along the way, the victims left in this group's wake...

If they were alive, they needed to be found. Fast.

* * *

Bozer sat near the window at the cabin, watching for tac to return as Riley worked diligently behind him, her headphones on and jumping randomly between screens, occasionally mumbling to herself. It had been just over twelve long hours since the diner exploded. The sun had risen in the sky, and everyone was starting to get just a little bit restless, waiting anxiously for confirmation, one way or another, from the coroner. In the hand closest to the wall, Bozer fidgeted with his best friend's trusted knife, turning it over and over in his hand, his jaw tight as he tried to carefully police his thoughts.

His efforts were in vain; his mind was flooded with thoughts of his two missing friends. What if they were alive? That meant they were at their captors' mercy, hidden away from them, and maybe not even in the country anymore. They were dealing with traffickers, after all; it wasn't as though they were strangers to smuggling human beings into and out of the country, and they were just a stone's throw away from the border. Bozer recalled the photos from the casefile, the victims discarded by this ring, and his stomach clenched.

The young agent quickly redirected his thoughts, but his only other option didn't do much to calm his fears: What if Mac and Jack were indeed the two bodies they'd pulled from the rubble? Then, their friends were dead and their killers were in the wind. Oh God...what if Mac and Jack were dead?

Before Bozer could venture too far down that rabbit hole, Riley's voice broke through his haze.

"Boze," the newer of the two agents jolted and turned to her.

"What?"

"Why did they drug them?"

Bozer blinked at her in confusion. "What?"

Riley let out a sigh and waved him closer. Bozer got up from his seat, putting Mac's knife back in his pocket, and made his way over to his friend's side. Riley handed him a set of headphones, and Bozer slipped them on. He listened carefully as Riley replayed the last minute or so of recorded audio they had.

"I don't get it," Bozer shook his head when it was over.

"Oh, c'mon, Boze," Riley scoffed. "Mac and Jack both made pain noises, and then about thirty seconds later, Jack's voice is totally slurred. They were drugged; I'm almost positive. So why the hell would they drug them if they were going to kill them less than a minute later?"

"Maybe they wanted to prevent them from struggling," Bozer offered, trying not to let himself get his hopes up.

"They weren't struggling to begin with," Riley argued. "They were trying to maintain their covers. These guys literally had no reason to drug them unless they planned on keeping them alive."

"She's right, Boze," Simmons' voice made both of them jump and spin around.

"Don't _do_ that!" Riley snapped, putting her hand over her chest.

"A little warning, please," Bozer chimed in, trying to steady his breathing.

"Sorry," Simmons chuckled. "But Riley's right. I just got off the phone with Matty. The coroner confirmed that the two bodies we found are definitely _not_ Mac and Jack. Dental records and DNA both conclusively ruled them out. I can't and won't say for certain that they're alive, but they definitely weren't in the building when it exploded."

Bozer felt weak with relief, letting out a trembling breath, before he felt a stab of guilt for that relief; although those bodies didn't belong to his friends, they had still been people, likely taken from their homes and living in terror right up until their final moments. But there was no time for guilt, no time to mourn them.

"Yeah, I know you guys are relieved and excited right now," Simmons sighed, "and I am, too—believe me—but this means that Mac and Jack are missing with no backup, completely at the mercy of people who break people down for a living. We need to find them yesterday, so, Riley," he leaned on the desk beside her, "whaddya got?"

* * *

It hurt. Everything hurt. Every muscle in his body was screaming, burning, straining beneath his skin. He wanted to get small, as small as he could, just fold in on himself until there was nothing left, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He'd pulled every limb as close to his center as he possibly could, but it wasn't enough to satisfy whatever sadistic demon was pulling mercilessly on his muscle fibers like puppet strings. It was taking everything he had to convince himself that he wasn't actually dying, and his brain throbbed with the effort. Blood pounded in his ears, but it wasn't enough to drown out the sound of his partner beside him, gagging, moaning, and dry heaving, shifting endlessly in his seat, as though he were unable to keep his balance despite the fact that he was not only sitting down, but bound upright in his chair.

Mac had figured out hours ago what they'd been given—statins for him, which were causing his muscles to cramp up with insane ferocity, and a beta blocker combined with a muscle relaxant for Jack, which were messing with his balance and blood pressure, essentially inducing some wicked sea sickness on dry land—but that knowledge did nothing to help them in their current state. Even if they got free, neither of them could move. Mac couldn't tell how long, exactly, they'd been there, but it was long enough that their captors, as he and Jack had predicted, were starting to get annoyed. They were currently talking amongst themselves, but the blond agent was having trouble picking up their conversation over his and Jack's agony-filled noises. It took a lot of focus, but eventually, he managed to pick out what they were saying.

"I'm telling you, this is taking too long," Rosen growled irritably.

"Your immense capacity for patience is astounding," Preston rolled his eyes.

"He's right though," Collins chimed in, a bit more calmly than the other guard. Although, that calmness might have just been a byproduct of the exhaustion that was apparent on his face when Mac glanced up at him. "These bastards should have snapped hours ago. Boss isn't gonna be happy. And I'm hungry, so if we could figure out what we're gonna do quickly, my stomach and I would appreciate it. At the very least we could get some takeout."

"Would you shut up about your stomach for five minutes?" Preston hissed. "We can't stay here for much longer; it's too risky. And clearly, what we're doing isn't working."

"So what the hell are you suggesting?" Rosen challenged.

"Well, we didn't bring anything other than the drugs, and we can't stay here, so I say we bring them home to meet the boss."

"Isn't it kind of risky to start dragging two feds around with us?" Rosen sounded doubtful.

"We could always just kill one of them and lighten the load," Collins shrugged.

"No," Preston refused. "Two is one and one is none; we kill one of them and we have no backup plan if the other dies or somehow escapes. Their people can't be too close behind us; if we leave now, they'll never find us."

"Fine," Rosen agreed, clearly irritated. "Call the boss. We'll prep the feds."

In response, Preston stood up from his chair and walked past Mac and Jack. They heard the door open and close, and Mac forced himself to look up at their two remaining captors. Collins had stood up as well, and was packing up their tools of the trade while Rosen pulled a knife from his pocket, two sets of cable ties and two black hoods from the blue tub, and two prepared syringes from the table.

"You two are very lucky," the man sneered as he came closer. Neither agent responded, both just trying to regain control over their own bodies. Rosen took their silence as an invitation to continue, taking the cap off of one of the syringes and approaching Mac. "See, you are going to do something no fed has ever been able to do."

Mac watched his every move, glaring at him furiously, knowing he couldn't do a damn thing to resist as the man tugged aside the collar of Mac's shirt and inserted the needle into the muscle at the base of his neck, injecting him with the sedative it contained. The stinging the clear liquid caused was familiar at this point, but this time, Mac was almost looking forward to the blackness that would soon consume him; at least it would make the pain stop. Rosen smirked at him, then moved over to Jack and repeated the process.

"You're both going to get to officially meet the boss."

Again, neither agent responded, both starting to feel their minds grow fuzzy. This time, Mac didn't even fight it; he welcomed the slow, heavy feeling that settled over him, the pain in his muscles seeming to drift away. In just a few moments, both he and Jack finally succumbed to the sedative and drifted mercifully into the darkness.

It didn't last nearly long enough.

Well before he was ready to face his screaming body, Mac found himself awakening in the back of a moving car. He was lying down with his wrists secured behind his back, and a black hood blocked out his vision. They were moving slowly across uneven ground, and by the time he'd managed to become aware of what was going on, they came to a stop. The blond agent heard three doors open and shut, followed by muffled voices outside, and he took the opportunity to move his sore leg around until he hit another person.

"Jack," he hissed. "You awake?"

"No," Jack whispered back, groaning softly.

Mac scoffed, a half-smile on his face beneath the hood. He couldn't say anything else before the trunk opened and rough hands reached in and dragged him out. The motion was far too quick, and his sore muscles shrieked in protest, hardly allowing him the presence of mind to get his feet under him in time, his balance not helped by the gravel beneath him. A strong hand on his upper arm steadied him, and Mac heard Jack grunt as he was yanked from the large trunk, stumbling much like his partner did on the gravel. Taking a deep breath, Mac could smell the unmistakable scent of horses, and a distant whinnying confirmed his suspicions that they were either on or near some kind of ranch.

Their captors didn't speak to them, instead simply pushing them forward and forcing them to walk. Mac did so gingerly, shuffling on stiff legs in an attempt to avoid tripping.

"Step up," Mac heard Collins warn, and the agent had little choice but to lift his feet and climb the short flight of stairs in front of him until he reached what felt and sounded like a small wooden deck. He heard a door open, and the warm air gave way to chilly AC as he was pulled inside a building. The door closed after he heard Jack and their other two captors follow him.

"You two get them situated in an empty room, if you can find one," Preston ordered, walking around them and opening another door. "I'm gonna go let the boss know we're here."

Collins and Rosen grumbled in agreement, and then Mac and Jack were marched forward, Preston's footsteps leading the way. The wood floor soon gave way to concrete stairs, and the captive agents descended fourteen steps to the bottom. They were quickly pulled to the left while Preston's footsteps continued straight, and after walking for seventy-three steps, Collins suddenly stopped.

"Here's good enough," the guard said to his colleague.

"That one's not empty," Rosen pointed out. As they argued, Mac scrunched his toes inside his right shoe, frowning to himself when he did not feel the paperclip he'd stashed there. These guys had evidently searched him more thoroughly while he slept.

"None of them are," Collins countered. "This is the emptiest one in this wing, unless you wanna march them through the whole damn building looking for an empty room."

Rosen muttered something Mac didn't catch, and then the blond agent heard a heavy bolt side out of place, followed by a metal door creaking open. Mac was pulled towards the sound, and then his black hood was plucked from his head as he was shoved forward. It took every ounce of concentration that he had to stop himself from falling face-first into the concrete floor, his aching muscles straining with the effort. Jack stumbled in after him, and Mac could do nothing to stop him from slamming into the hard back wall with his shoulder. Before either of them could get their bearings, the door slammed shut, and the bolt slid back into place, locking them in their new prison. Mac's jaw tightened as he glared at the closed door, and then he turned to Jack.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked again, his voice still quiet, as though speaking too loud would draw their captors back. Jack groaned, turning so that his back was pressed against the wall, his eyes pinched shut.

"Think I'm still comin' down from whatever they had me on," the former Delta reported. After a moment, he pried his eyes open to look at his partner. "What about you? You good?"

"Fine, now," Mac shrugged as best he could with his arms restrained. "Just a little sore."

A sniffling in the corner of the dimly-lit room drew their attention, and when they looked, they found two young children huddled together on a thin sleeping mat, looking up at them with wide, shining eyes. It was a little boy and girl, both between the ages of six and eight, both with dark hair and eyes, and both trembling and terrified as they clung to each other. They were half-shrouded in shadows, not allowing for either agent to get a clear look at them.

"Hey," Mac's voice instantly grew softer and gentler—he even managed to force something that sounded like reassurance into it as he took just the smallest step towards them. Both children visibly stiffened at his movements. "Hey, it's okay; we're not gonna hurt you. What're your names?"

Neither child answered, both trying to shift away from him. Mac offered a kind smile and carefully lowered himself to one knee—a feat with his hands restrained behind him—and looked at them encouragingly.

"It's okay," he said again. "It's okay...I promise, we're not going to hurt you. Just tell us your names."

"They might not understand you, Mac," Jack spoke up. "I mean, these guys rarely get the kids from this country—that's usually reserved for the college girls. I don't know where they're from, but wherever it is, they might not speak English."

Mac let out a sigh, grumbling, "You're right." He thought for a moment, then cleared his throat and tried the first language that came to mind.

"¿Cómo se llaman?" he asked gently. _What are your names?_

His first instincts appeared to be correct; upon hearing the apparently familiar language, the two children looked at each other in surprise before turning back to him. Mac couldn't help but be grateful; his Spanish was very good, although with his head throbbing the way it was, the words weren't flowing quiet as effortlessly as they usually did. Still, he took a quick breath and gave it his best shot.

"Está bien," the blond agent soothed. "Prometo no se vamos a lastimar. ¿Cómo se llaman?" _It's okay. I promise we're not going to hurt you. What are your names?_

Both children hesitated, then the boy swallowed and choked out, "Tomás."

MacGyver smiled at him warmly. "Hola, Tomás. Me llamo Mac, y esto," he indicated his partner with a tilt of his head, "es Jack."

"Hola," Jack groaned, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes again.

Mac scoffed with a slight smirk and shook his aching head. "No le hagan caso. Está un poquito enfermo." _Don't mind him. He's a little bit sick._

"¿A causa de los hombres malos?" the little girl asked, her voice trembling and barely above a whisper as she stared at Mac with wide, terror-filled eyes.

 _Because of the bad men?_

The blond agent looked at her with sadness in his expression, his heart breaking for her; no little girl should have such fear in her face. After a moment, he nodded.

"Sí," he confirmed. "Pero estará bien; no se preocupan." _But it's going to be okay; don't worry._ "Right, Jack?"

"What?" Jack blinked and lifted his head, looking at him. Mac turned over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows at him, and Jack got the message. "Uh, sí."

Mac turned back to the pair and smiled again, then looked at the girl. "¿Cómo te llamas?"

The girl hesitated, glancing at her companion, who was starting to relax some. Then she looked back at Mac. "Sofía."

The blond man's smile only grew. "Mucho gusto, Sofía."

"¿Qué quieren ustedes?" Tomás asked meekly, still clearly afraid despite the fact that his body was relaxing slightly.

What did he want. From two petrified kids, absolutely nothing more than to wipe that terror right off their little faces. "No tienen que tener miedo," Mac assured them, although his words did little to calm their fears. _You don't have to be afraid._ "Queremos...um..." his skull throbbed relentlessly in protest as he tried to recall the vocabulary, and he looked over his shoulder at Jack. "Hey, Jack, what's the verb for 'to help' in Spanish? Ayudar or andar?"

"The fact that you forgot the word for 'help,' of all things, is disturbing to me," the former Delta criticized. "You'd think that that would be the one word, in any language, that you hold onto."

"Well, it's been a long day," Mac sighed impatiently.

"That's when you need the word for 'help' the most!"

"Jack!"

"Sorry. Ah..." Jack let out a breath, thinking for a moment as he pushed himself away from the wall and started walking towards them, stopping a step or two behind his partner to give the kids their space. "Ayudar, I think."

"Queremos ayudarles," Mac smiled, turning back to the children, hoping he'd managed to communicate that they only wanted to help. To potentially save him additional struggle, he optimistically asked, "¿Hablan inglés?"

"Sí," Tomás confirmed. "Un poco."

A little English was better than none at all. "Great," the blond agent approved as he painfully shifted into a sitting position. The two terrified kids before him were slowly letting their posture relax, separating from each other and allowing the two Phoenix agents to see them better. Sofía had long, curly, dark brown hair that framed her round, sweet face. Her almond-shaped eyes were a bit red and puffy, glistening with tears, and her nose was red as she sniffled. Tomás had hair that was even darker than his cellmate's, shaggy but well-kept. His lips were a little chapped, and his dark eyes were framed with dark circles. Both looked well-fed and unhurt, so far as the agents could tell. But of course, there were wounds that couldn't be detected with just a look, and there was no telling how long they'd been held captive there.

They also, to Mac's dismay, weren't wearing much he could use. Neither wore shoes, both were dressed in the same apparent uniform consisting of a pair of black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt, and neither had any jewelry to speak of.

"We're with...well, we're kind of with the police," Mac told them, not missing how both children seemed unsettled by the word. He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, maybe not the best way to start...Listen, I don't know what the police are like where you're from, but we're the good guys. We're going to get you both out of here, okay? Prometo, somos los buenos."

 _I promise, we're the good guys._

Tomás and Sofía seemed unsure, and Mac looked at them sadly.

"We're not going to let anyone hurt you," he stated firmly, his expression kind and compassionate. "You don't have to be scared of us; I promise. ¿Entienden?"

The children hesitated, and then both gave small nods. Mac smiled at them.

"Good," he approved. "Then, ah...necesito hablar con mi amigo. ¿Está bien?" After all, it was only polite to ask their new friends if it was okay to go to the opposite corner of the room to talk about them where they couldn't hear.

The kids both muttered their approval, and the blond agent gave them one more smile before he carefully, clumsily stood up—gritting his teeth against the pain—and walked towards the cell's right hand wall, Jack following him.

"So, what are we looking at, here?" Jack asked when they were standing next to the concrete wall, his voice quiet to avoid being overheard. "What's the plan? What are we gonna do?"

"Good question," Mac sighed wearily, his shoulder leaning against the rough concrete. "I...I don't know, Jack. I don't know what to do. I only have the vaguest idea where we are, and if I'm right about it, then even if we managed to get out of this room, we'd have a long way to run before we'd even get off the property. I'm not even positive that we're still in America. Plus, if we try to get out of here...if we're spotted before we get away, innocent people could get caught in the crossfire. If we somehow do manage to get away, they could potentially cut their losses and destroy this whole facility and everyone in it. And this place sounds huge, so it's not like we could feasibly get everyone out with us. I don't even know how to get us out of these ties; they took everything I had on me, even the paperclip in my shoe."

"Shit," Jack muttered, knowing his partner was right. "So, what? We're just supposed to sit here and let them do God knows what to us? To these kids?"

"No, of course not, but..." Mac's expression gave away his frustration and distress. "Jack if we try to fight our way out, at least one of us is gonna die, and who knows who else might get caught in the middle. For now, we just gotta hope that Riley can track us down. Until she does, we just have to keep doing what we've been doing. Either we'll get found, or..."

"Or they'll get sick of us and kill us," Jack finished his thought for him, his expression grim as he nodded.

"Yeah," the blond man confirmed quietly as he looked down. "Pretty much."

"Awesome," Jack scoffed sarcastically. "Dammit...there's gotta be something we can do, Mac..."

"What do you suggest?" Mac raised an eyebrow. Between them, they had two pairs of dress shoe laces, their clothes sans belts, the elastic in two child-sized sweatpants waistbands, and the world's weakest lightbulb. If he had to guess, he'd say that the building's original electrical panel wasn't designed for the load the extra 'wings' had put on it, and that 70 or so volts coming out of the bulb wire was all the juice there was. Not enough to do more than irritate their captors. And all of that presumed they had enough dexterity with their hands tied behind their backs to do anything with any of it.

"Well..." Jack let out his breath. "If our next setup is anything like our last, then we pretty much only have one opportunity to get out, and that's when they're moving us out of this room. They probably won't kill us outright; if we can just get far enough away to call for help, then even if we get caught again, Riley'll find us. Or at least, we'll give her a starting point. And if they do kill us, well...at least we tried."

Mac hesitated. It was a stupid plan; there were a thousand ways it could go wrong. The odds of it going right were...well, less than ideal, to say the least. And if they did somehow even make it out of the building, they had no clue where they were; there was always the chance that even if their captors didn't kill them, the environment would before they could find help. But sitting in that room, bound, just waiting idly for either their captors to return or their people to find them, was unbearable. He had to do something.

"If we see even _one_ civilian out there that could get hurt when we try..." he began.

"We call the whole thing off," Jack nodded, reading his mind. Mac nodded in return, turning his head to look at Tomás and Sofía, who were now whispering to each other rapidly in Spanish. Their posture had relaxed, and both were sitting cross-legged, allowing Mac to see that each had a toy in their laps, which they'd been able to conceal before due to the fact that they'd both had their knees up to their chests. Sofía had a small teddy bear clutched in her hands, and Tomás had a green-spotted stuffed apatosaurus. The sight almost made Mac sadder, knowing that the toys had likely only been offered to pacify the children and keep them relatively compliant.

"So what should we do until they come back?" the blond agent asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the two kids. Even Mac had to admit, he sounded tired. Jack looked at him for a moment, studying his face, then gave a shrug and looked away.

"We may as well make friends," he offered casually, although Mac could hear the heaviness hidden under his calm tone. The younger agent didn't look away, just gave a nod, and with that, they both walked back over towards the kids, stopping a fair distance away so that they wouldn't be startled, and sat down, offering them kind smiles.

For now, all they could do was wait.

* * *

 **Well, here we are. Apologies to any native speakers out there; I know Mac speaks flawless Spanish (as per the recent Murdoc episode), but I tried very hard not to use translators, so his Spanish is as good as mine is in this story, i.e. passable but certainly not fluent. I did my best, but I probably botched a few phrases. Sorry for any cringey mistakes.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I will see you next time for the review (which is over half done already due to the previously-stated circumstances).**

 **Oh, yeah, and happy Thanksgiving!**


	3. Review

**!IMPORTANT! !READ ALL AUTHOR'S NOTES!**

 **Hey guys. I'm back. I really dragged my feet on this one, I know. That's because I frankly didn't want to write it. And in fact, I didn't write part of it—the ever-talented Haven126 wrote it for me because I could not bring myself to. And if it was that uncomfortable for me to even consider writing, it's bad. So bad that I cut out the worst of it (as much as I could while still keeping the key plot points) and put it in its own chapter so that those who wanted to could skip it. ****More on that in the A/N at the end of this bit.** **I didn't want to water it down and make it more PG-13, though, because this is not a subject that I want to downplay in any way. While this is the more "cinematic" portrayal of human trafficking, this is still a real issue, something that real people really suffer through. I don't want to make light of that. That said, here are the warnings:**

 **THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS INSTANCES OF CHILD ABUSE, BOTH EXPLICIT AND IMPLIED. MORE SENSITIVE READERS SHOULD DEFINITELY SKIM. Again, this mission involves human trafficking, people. It's not gonna be pretty.**

 **I'll add the warning about the cut out bit at the end of this. Without further adieu, on with the review.**

* * *

"Riley, are you sure this is the right direction?" Ramirez asked for the third time in the past hour. The analyst had sent the Phoenix agents out searching again, a bit more targeted than their initial search, after they'd all gathered to regroup. Over half of SWAT had been recalled until they had a more concrete target, so now Riley had even more ground to cover and even fewer resources to cover it. She refused to complain, though; they didn't have time for that. Earlier, Matty had called to let them know that, while Christian and Makayla Galloway existed quite actively in cyberspace, they had almost no real-world presence. Their supposed restaurant locations were entirely different businesses in person, or else they didn't exist at all, and the couple that lived at their listed home address was an elderly couple and their live-in nurse. All three checked out and couldn't possibly be their masterminds. Riley had been right all along; Patton played them.

"No," Riley sighed wearily, glancing over at Bozer, who was sitting down beside her and placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, his own still in his hand. She thanked him with a look, took a sip, and turned back to her screens, which showed the position of each search party. Three locations that she'd been able to detect from satellite had already been cleared, as well as another five that the teams had uncovered on their own. "But there's only two roads they could have taken away from that diner without running into you guys. If they went down the other road, they would have eventually come across a traffic cam, so either they turned off before they could get caught, or they went down your road. We're looking down every turn off point; yours is half a mile ahead on the left."

"If you say so," the analyst could almost hear him shrug. "I just don't see anywhere they could have stashed Mac and Jack...It's pretty barren out—"

"Simmons," Jada's voice interrupted Ramirez's observation. "You see that up there?"

"Yeah," Simmons confirmed. "Riley, we can see an early turn-off. About a hundred yards ahead of our position on the right."

"I don't see anything on the satellite images," Riley grumbled, glancing at her other screens. "But it can't hurt to check it out."

Bozer leaned closer to watch through Simmons' bodycam as the group pulled over and Simmons got out, his hand on his gun as he walked over to the turn off, which was nearly overrun by scraggly shrubs, concealing it from the casual observer. The team leader crouched next to the shrubbery and examined the broken branches.

"These are fresh breaks," he noted, letting out his breath as he stood up. "Someone turned down this road recently. We'll check it out, see if there's anything down this way. If not, we'll keep looking."

With this, he walked back to their vehicle and climbed behind the wheel, turning down the overgrown path. They drove for several minutes, until they came upon what looked like a shed. It was of average size, about ten feet by ten feet, no windows, sunbleached siding, and a lock on the door.

"We got a shed," Simmons reported. "Gonna check it out. Ramirez and Jada, with me; Locke, Reeves, and Dixon, secure the area."

Riley and Bozer watched, tense, as Locke, Reeves, and Dixon fanned out and covered the immediate area, ensuring they wouldn't be surprised by anyone lurking in the brush. Meanwhile, Ramirez, after looking at the lock, grabbed a crowbar from the back of their vehicle and got into position in front of Simmons and Jada. He waited until his team leader signaled him with a firm pat on his shoulder, then pried the metal panel that was screwed to the door off and yanked the door open wide, allowing Simmons and Jada to rush in, guns at the ready. Due to the close quarters, Ramirez hung back by the door to ensure that no one escaped while his colleagues went in and cleared the room.

"Clear!" Simmons called out, allowing those outside to relax. "Riley, you seeing this?"

"Yeah," Riley confirmed, frowning. The shed was empty, but two metal chairs were bolted to the ground, two suit jackets were abandoned in the corner, and three more chairs were clustered by the small table. Discarded cable ties and duct tape littered the floor under the two bolted chairs, and there were used syringes in a bin at the far end of the table.

"The clothes belong to Mac and Jack," Ramirez reported, having wandered into the shed to look around. The jackets concealed two belts, two neckties, and two distinct tie clips that he'd seen their colleagues wearing the night before. "They were definitely here."

"That's a lot of syringes," Bozer grumbled, looking at Simmons' feed.

"And no blood," Jada added grimly. "Probably safe to say that they were drugging them as opposed to physically injuring them."

"Question is, with what?" Ramirez sighed as he stood up.

Simmons looked around, frowning as he studied the two bolted chairs. "And where the hell are they now?"

* * *

Jack's eyes were closed, and his head was resting against the concrete wall, but unlike his partner and their two cellmates, he wasn't asleep. He was floating in that state between wakefulness and slumber, trying to weaken his plastic restraints by grinding them into the rough concrete behind him almost absently. He wasn't making much progress, but it made him feel better to try. He wasn't sure how long they'd been in that room, only that it had been hours. Sofía and Tomás had fallen asleep with them, Tomás leaning into Mac's arm and Sofía with her head in Jack's lap, clinging tightly to her teddy bear.

He was just about ready to fully surrender to sleep when the sound of their door's deadbolt sliding out of place jolted him fully into consciousness. He didn't have time to rouse his partner or their sleeping companions—although Mac's eyes had in fact opened—before the door slammed open wide and their three captors stormed in. They didn't wake the children before grabbing the two agents from the floor and yanking them roughly to their feet. Tomás was able to catch himself with little more than a grunt of surprise, but Sofía screamed as she was thrown from Jack's lap, crying when her head smacked against the floor.

"You didn't have to do that," Jack growled at Preston, pulling against Rosen's grip on his arms. "We would have gotten up if you asked; you didn't have to hurt her!"

"Of course we didn't have to," Preston laughed at him. "But where's the fun in that?"

Jack gawked at the man as Sofía lay sobbing loudly on the floor, one arm around her teddy bear and the other covering where she'd hit her head. Tomás hesitantly moved to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder and whispering rapidly to her in Spanish, likely urging her to be quiet and stop crying. Preston rolled his eyes and turned to look at the trembling little girl, then stalked towards her and Tomás. The young boy flattened himself against the wall, but held on tight to a handful of his friend's shirt near her shoulder.

"Stay away from them," Mac snarled the warning, fighting against Collins' strong hands as Jack lunged for the man, barely restrained by Rosen until he felt a gun jam into his spine, freezing him in place. Preston paid none of them any attention, his eyes on Sofía as he crouched down in front of her.

"Sofía," the man said gently, though his voice was anything but comforting. "Look at me."

The young girl forced herself to lift her eyes to meet his, and Jack watched the man smirk before reaching towards her and grabbing the bear clutched in her arms, pulling it from her grasp even as she sobbed harder and reached for it, only held back by Tomás, who was watching with terror on his face, obviously begging his friend in his mind to just sit down and be quiet.

"Sofía...Sofía, be quiet," Preston's voice took on a harsh edge at the end as he held the bear up above his head and out of her reach, and Sofía, choking down sobs, silenced herself as best she could, sitting back from him. Preston smirked at her.

"Toys are for good girls, aren't they?" the man's tone became that same sickly-sweet one it had been earlier, making Jack's stomach lurch. Sofía whimpered, utter devastation mingling with the terror on her face, as though she'd just realized she'd done something terrible, instead of reacting the way anyone would in her position. She finally sat up all the way, scooting a bit back from the man as he chuckled at her.

"And good girls don't scream, do they?"

Sofía dropped her head, her face contorting as she fought to contain her tears. Jack felt his heart break in his chest, wanting nothing more than to scoop her up and comfort her—well, except maybe to kill the man taunting her. Preston smiled to himself, then stood up with the bear in hand and turned to look at the two captive agents behind him. When he saw the fury and disgust on their faces, he shrugged casually.

"Rules are rules, gentlemen," he told them as justification. He then studied the pair of them critically for a moment before he turned and looked at his colleagues.

"Get them outta here," he ordered. "I'll join you guys soon. I'm gonna...hang out with their new little friends until you get them situated. If they try anything, well..."

Preston glanced threateningly at the two children behind him, and Jack's jaw tightened as he looked over at Mac. They didn't have to speak to know that they were thinking the same thing: the plan was off. They couldn't risk Preston hurting—or worse, killing—Tomás and Sofía. They wouldn't. And their captors knew it. As Sofía sat against the wall, crying quietly with her knees pulled up to her chest, and Tomás sat beside her, hugging her and whispering to her, trying to calm her down, Mac and Jack were pulled roughly from the room.

The two partners stumbled side-by-side down the dimly lit concrete hallway, turning left when they came to the stairs they'd descended earlier and then continuing straight. Directly ahead of them, the hall continued for quite a while, and every ten feet or so, it opened up on either side, showing hallways with rooms on one side. They passed two such halls before they were finally pulled to the right. The door at the very end of the hall was unlatched and pushed open wide. Inside was much the same setup as the shed: two metal chairs had been freshly bolted to the floor; a table stood in front of them, containing syringes, drug bottles, duct tape, and zip ties, but now it also held various tools, blades, torches, and more; and three more chairs were clustered beside the table. Both Mac and Jack tried not to look at it as they were each pushed into a chair and their captors went about securing them. There were also stocked storage shelves along the wall opposite them and half of the wall to their right, opposite the door. Mac's jaw tightened; just looking at those shelves, he knew he'd have everything he could possibly need to get them out of there, if he could just get free...but he didn't dare fight as Collins got him situated. Not when he couldn't ensure that Tomás and Sofía would be alright.

When both agents were securely restrained, their captors straightened, and Collins turned to Rosen, speaking as though Mac and Jack weren't even there.

"I'll see you guys later," he said with a sigh. "Boss wants me to take care of something. Try not to have too much fun without me."

Rosen scoffed in amusement, and then Collins left the room. Rosen studied the two Phoenix agents for a minute or two, making them squirm under his gaze, then took up one of the three chairs opposite Mac and Jack just as the door opened once more and Preston rejoined them. The man glanced at the agents and smirked.

"Comfortable, gentlemen?" he sneered.

"Keep talkin' asshole; as if I needed more of a reason to kill you," Jack snapped furiously. Preston and Rosen both raised their eyebrows at him and chuckled.

"That's real cute," Preston chuckled. "But you're not getting out of here. Not alive, anyway."

"Big talk from a guy who has to abuse and terrorize a couple of six-year-olds to feel big and strong," the older agent spat in disgust.

"Honestly, there's not much more pathetic than that," Mac chimed in, his voice cold and expression showing his hatred.

"If you two think you're going to get under my skin like that, you're sadly mistaken," Preston was unfazed by their comments. "If you know what's good for you, you'll save your breath; you're gonna need it later."

Mac and Jack exchanged glances, expertly masking how unsettled they felt from everyone except each other.

"The boss will be arriving shortly," Preston informed them as Rosen went about preparing syringes. "We'll just be getting you ready for him. Don't worry; it's nothing you can't handle, right?"

Jack kept his expression stoic, even as his heart pounded, watching as Rosen handed one syringe to Preston and kept several for himself. The former Delta's stomach lurched when Preston advanced towards him and Rosen moved in on Mac. Before long, they were both reduced to the state they were in back in the shed: Mac compressing himself as much as he possibly could, trembling, whimpering, gasping in his seat, very obviously doing everything in his power to stop himself from screaming, and Jack involuntarily dry-heaving, feeling as though the floor was pitching violently beneath him, and trying desperately to settle his stomach and stop his world from spinning.

"Well, you're stubborn bastards; I'll give you that," Rosen sighed, his voice only serving to further disorient the former Delta before him. His ears couldn't pinpoint a point of origin for the voice, and it certainly didn't help that his eyes believed he was sitting in a kaleidoscope. Shutting his eyes didn't help either; in fact, it arguably made the whole ordeal worse.

Beside him, Mac turned his head just a bit to look at him, his teary eyes full of sympathy as he tried to breathe past the pain that gripped him like a vice. He thought about saying something to their captors in response, but before he could, the door to their new prison opened, and in walked the man they'd been waiting to meet. The blond agent slowly dragged his eyes away from his partner, painfully turning his head to look. He was not quite as surprised as he thought he'd be—although was certainly still surprised—when his eyes fell upon none other than Andrew Patton.

"Hello again," the man greeted the two agents with a grin.

"You..." Mac forced the word past his lips before biting down on another strangled cry. Patton chuckled, clearly amused, and closed the door behind him as he paced further into the room, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

"Not who you expected?" he teased knowingly. Then he tilted his head at the younger agent and took a step towards him. "Or maybe some part of you did..."

He looked Mac up and down for a moment, then shrugged and took a couple more steps to position himself between his captives. "Well, don't be _too_ hard on yourself," he continued. "Almost everything I told you about Andrew Patton was true; it's just that I'm not him. Although, I gotta say, tricking you two was just way too easy. 'They're just little kids; I can't be a part of that!' I mean," he chuckled to himself in amusement, "you two wanted so badly for it to be true that you were like putty in my hands."

"Is there a...a reason you're here?" Jack surprised everyone by speaking, even though his words were slurred and relatively quiet. "Or did you just...wanna talk out of your ass...for a while?"

Patton—or whatever his name really was—and their other captors laughed at him. The boss turned, glanced at his employees, then turned back to the two agents, still grinning.

"You're funny," he commented. "But funny won't help you here. Why don't you both do yourselves a favor and tell me what I need to know?"

Mac just scoffed at the thought, his head down as his jaw tightened. Jack gave a short laugh between heaves of his spasming stomach.

"Why would we?" he challenged. "We...die either way...we got nothin' to lose."

"Well, _you_ don't," Patton allowed, his tone making a cold pit settle in Jack's chest. "You're far too old; I couldn't get anything for you."

He took a couple steps towards Mac and reached out, grabbing the young agent's jaw, forcing him to lift his head as Mac let out a small whimper. Patton manipulated the blond man's head, turning his face left and right as he studied him appraisingly.

"You, on the other hand..." he mused quietly, threateningly, almost hungrily. "A bit older than I usually let the boys get around here, but you certainly are pretty. I'm sure I could get _something_ for you."

Mac swallowed, unsure what to say and trying to hide how much his stomach churned at the thought. Patton smirked down at him, then roughly released his grip, allowing Mac to put his head down again and try to focus on breathing past the pain.

"So you see, _you_ might have nothing to lose," Patton admitted, "but your partner? He's got a few things to consider."

"You so much as _think_...about hurting him," Jack snarled weakly, unable to really focus on his partner long enough to get a good look at him nor pick Patton out of the endlessly-shifting mess of his vision, "and drugged or not...I will tear you apart."

His threat was met by laughter from all three captors. Andrew looked at Jack and frowned in exaggerated thought, not moving from his place in front of Mac.

"Well, I'm thinking about it," the man informed him tauntingly. "Rosen, do I still have all my limbs?"

"All accounted for, Sir," Rosen assured him with a chuckle.

"Hmm..." Andrew was clearly enjoying himself, barely hiding a smirk. Without warning, he grabbed Mac's shoulder and punched him in the stomach, forcing a short cry from his throat before leaving him gasping desperately in his chair. Jack yanked against his restraints, but instantly regretted it, his body rebelling against even the slightest movement.

"And look at that," Andrew laughed. "Now I did it. Preston, how am I lookin'?"

"Still intact, Mr. Fox," Preston snickered.

"Gonna go ahead and call your bluff, then, Mister...?" Andrew—Mr. Fox—looked at Jack, as though expecting him to supply his name. The former Delta just glared at him as best he could, trying and failing to stifle the endless, involuntary gagging as Mac's desperate gasps slowly began to draw in actual air again. Fox studied the two of them for a few seconds, then turned to his employees.

"What are their names again?" he asked.

"They've stuck to their cover IDs," Preston shrugged. "Probably pretty close to their real names. They call each other Mac and Jack," the man gestured to each agent accordingly.

"Hmm," Fox turned back to his captives, folding his arms as his eyes narrowed slightly. When he finally spoke, malice dripped from his words.

"Well, gentlemen, Mac and Jack are clearly getting bored, over here," he said with a half-smile, never taking his eyes off the two agents even though his words were obviously meant for Preston and Rosen. "Let's stop being so careful, shall we?"

* * *

"Riley!" Bozer's voice made the young analyst jump, looking around wildly as she tried to figure out where she was. When she recognized the cabin, she relaxed, and looked over at her friend, who was watching her sympathetically and looking just about as tired as she was.

"Riley, I know you've been at it for well over thirty hours," Matty said gently, her voice emanating from the analyst's laptop; they'd all gotten on for a group update, and while the search parties had been giving their reports, she'd apparently nodded off. "But we've gotta keep going for just a little longer. You okay?"

"Yeah," Riley promised, reaching over and grabbing her coffee, taking a drink quickly and then clearing her throat. "Yeah, I'm good. Sorry; what was the question?"

"What did you find about the private properties in the new search radius?"

"Right," Riley nodded, pulling up the research she'd found. She opened her mouth to speak, but her laptop produced a cheery tone, alerting her to something, and when she clicked on the notification, her eyes grew wide, and she felt the color drain from her face.

"Riley?" Simmons spoke up when they didn't hear her voice. "What's going on?"

"It's back on," Riley gasped, quickly sharing the data on her screen with Matty. "Mac's watch; it's back on...the audio's muffled and I have nothing on visual, but I have the tracking data."

"It can't be him, can it?" Carter sounded doubtful, and with good reason.

"Even if it's not, we have to find out," Matty stated definitively.

"Simmons and Carter, you guys can box him in," Riley reported. "Simmons, he's coming towards you about a mile and a half out, and Carter, you're about half a mile behind him."

"On it," both team leaders said in unison, and Riley watched their little dots move into position. Waiting seemed to take years, but finally, both cars were in position, and Riley, Bozer, and Matty watched through bodycams as the two tac teams boxed a large, dark blue SUV in on the dirt road, the agents quickly jumping out to surround the vehicle, every movement practiced and professional. All of them were shouting, demanding that the driver turn off the engine and get out of the car.

"It's one of the guards from the diner," Bozer observed as the man was dragged out of the driver's seat and pinned to the ground. "The one who checked them in."

Riley didn't respond, holding her breath as two members of Carter's team—Shane Brown and Devon Keeler—threw open the trunk. She expected it, but seeing the car empty made her heart sink and stomach clench.

"Looking for someone?" the guard laughed from his position face down in the dirt. Ramirez shoved him down harder, forcing a grunt from the man's throat.

"Found the watch," Jada reported, leaning into the driver's seat and coming out with the watch in question.

"And here are the glasses," Locke added after searching their suspect, pulling the device from the man's jacket pocket.

"Riley, I've got a phone," Simmons chimed in, grabbing the device from the floor of the passenger seat. "You ready for it?"

"Yeah," Riley confirmed as Simmons walked around the car and used the guard's thumb to unlock the phone. He then walked to the back of the car they'd arrived in and opened the waiting laptop—which Riley controlled remotely—before plugging in the phone. Instantly, Riley was granted access.

"It's pretty clean," she grumbled with a frown. "Looks like he's only had it for a couple weeks, and it's been scrubbed fairly recently..."

"So you've got nothing," Carter sounded a bit disappointed.

"Oh ye of little faith," Riley muttered, digging further into the phone's data. "I've got one sent text from almost an hour ago. I'll see if I can't find out where he sent it from..."

The analyst got to work, typing furiously as her colleagues waited in tense silence. Finally, her lips twitched into a smile.

"Got the coordinates," she reported. Then she frowned. "Looks like they're kinda just...in the middle of nowhere..."

"Doesn't even mean that's where he started," Ramirez scoffed. "He probably drove around for hours before even turning the watch on."

"True..." Riley sighed quietly, her frown deepening as her fingers kept moving.

"What?" Bozer asked, noting her thoughtful expression. After a few seconds without an answer, Riley's eyebrows shot up.

"Okay, so earlier I was looking up possible locations of this operation," the analyst explained. "I figured, it's gotta be at least relatively close by since they probably wouldn't venture too far out of their comfort zone while kidnapping two federal agents. For the size of operation we're looking at, it would have to be a large, isolated property. There are several farms and ranches in the area, and I flagged a few for one reason or another; those coordinates are right in the middle of a three-hundred-acre horse ranch that I had at the top of my list."

"Where, Riley?" Simmons demanded.

"I'm sending the coordinates to all of the search teams and SWAT," Riley promised. "Looks like, um..."

She trailed off, frowning again, then swallowed and cleared her throat. "Looks like all of you are at least forty minutes out. But Boze and I are twenty minutes out, tops; we could—"

"Absolutely not," Matty refused before Riley could even finish.

"But Matty," Riley protested, but Matty wasn't hearing it.

"No buts," Director Webber snapped. "No one is going in there without backup. Not again. You and Bozer stay put. Simmons, Carter, and Todd, get SWAT and get your asses to this ranch and get our boys back. Riley, get them as much information as you can. Am I clear?"

The three tac teams gave clear responses while Riley and Bozer simply grumbled. After a few seconds of typing, Riley turned off her coms and turned to Bozer, waiting until he mimicked her before she started to speak.

"Mac and Jack could be dead by the time they get there," the analyst told him earnestly. "These bastards have had their grimy little hands on them for over twenty-four hours; they've gotta be getting sick of them by now. And this place doesn't have a system I can access; that's why it was at the top of my list in the first place. The place boasts that it houses some of the top horses in the world—some that even competed in the Olympics—and you're telling me they don't have any sort of security system? Not fucking likely. The owners would never allow it. So that means that to get into that system and let our people know what the hell is going on, I have to be on-site."

"Twist my arm," Bozer scoffed, getting to his feet. "I'll drive."

Riley grinned at him, and then she grabbed her laptop, and the two of them quickly made their way out to the car. Before anyone could realize that they'd gone off coms, they were well on their way.

* * *

Jack sat in his chair, breathing hard. His skull was throbbing, and his ribs ached; their captors had resorted to beatings, and while they were avoiding Mac's head altogether, they weren't taking the same precautions with him. He was alright with that, though; the fewer hits his partner took to that big ol' brain of his, the better. Their captors were talking to each other, in a manner clearly meant to let the two agents hear, but the former Delta wasn't paying attention. That is, until Foxy's voice broke through his dazed thoughts.

"You know, I think I was wrong about you."

Jack didn't bother to pick up his head. He did, however, expend the effort to spit the blood out of his mouth, lest it run back down his throat and give him something to actually upchuck.

Damn, he was getting tired of this. He hadn't felt this sick since that one Mardi Gras, the first year he'd been Duke Jacoby and really had to live it up. It had taken him months to be able to look a hurricane in the eye after that.

Heh. Look a hurricane in the eye.

Jack snickered a little. Hurt way less than trying to puke his stomach inside out.

"What do you think, Preston, about the cage fighting circuit?"

"You mean like the human equivalent of a bait dog?" Foxy's henchman sounded a little dubious. "A bitch is a bitch, I guess."

Jack's snickering turned into full-fledged chuckling. _God, just keep the damn floor still for ten seconds and I'll show ya how long one of you would last in a cage with me._

"So we've...moved onto name calling...?" Mac didn't sound nearly as amused as Jack felt. But, he did sound like he was finally able to catch his breath. Like maybe whatever they were givin' him was finally starting to loosen its hold.

Jack heard a punch land, and his next snicker died on his lips.

"Well, Mac, you don't last long in this business if you don't learn how to...what's the phrase? Roll with the punches." Another hit, this one extracting a grunt from his partner. "Be flexible. You know, willing to change up your tactics. Not everyone's into the same things."

Foxy's voice was downright conversational, but underneath it, his patience was clearly wearing thin. "Rosen, not the face," he reminded the man, almost absently, and then Mac shouted in pain.

This time, Jack did look up, just in time to see Rosen digging his meaty paws into Mac's trapezius. The blond agent's eyes and teeth were tightly clenched, trying not to give the guy any satisfaction, and then he—and the entire room with him—tilted face-first about eighty degrees, and Jack closed his eyes, turning away with a heave.

Deep breaths.

 _Come on, Riles. We can't stall this guy forever._

"And you may have a point," Fox conceded thoughtfully. "This clearly isn't working. You seem to like pain, so maybe...we should go with pleasure."

Jack knew instantly that he didn't like that option, based solely on the way the guy's voice almost dripped with anticipation.

"Y'mean like...lettin' us outta these chairs...and havin' us beat the shit...outta you?" Jack sucked down another deep breath. "I'd definitely talk then. Guaranteed."

"I would, too," Mac agreed hoarsely.

Fox gave a cold laugh. "I wasn't talking about _your_ pleasure, gentlemen. Well, I might be getting ahead of myself, here," he backtracked. "Maybe you're into that. How long have you had them now, Preston?"

"Going on twenty-five hours, sir."

It felt like twenty-five years. Even granting they'd had a few hours to rest, this was heading uncomfortably into marathon territory. Jack honestly couldn't remember the last time he and Mac had ended up in a situation like this.

Not since that stupid terrorist and the sodium pentothal. And then it had really just been him, getting his ass kicked and then drugged, while Mac was busy screwing around with chocolate sauce—

"That's some impressive stamina, gentlemen," Fox's voice oozed with false admiration. "In other circumstances, I could have made you very happy customers, but...c'est la vie. And speaking of, I actually do have clients that will be requiring my attention shortly, so we really should move things along. Preston, grab a welcome kit."

His henchman actually chuckled, in a way that told Jack that a welcome kit was not a basket of perfumed soap and a bottle of bubbly. "Yes, sir. Bronze or platinum?"

"Oh, I think they've earned platinum, don't you?"

Jack heard his partner grunt again, and he risked another glance. His eyesight was blurry, and had been blurry for a while, but he could tell Rosen had him by the jaw. Dude looked like a fuckin' linebacker next to Mac, who was glaring up at him like the guy wasn't three times his size. Luckily, Rosen apparently thought it was funny. "Not smart, wastin' the boss's time like this."

Mac growled something Jack couldn't quite make out, and took another blow to his gut for his troubles. Rosen scowled at him, then turned away in disgust as Mac tried to wheeze in a breath. "We can always put 'em on ice 'til after the party, boss."

Dalton's spatial awareness was currently worse than useless, but he was pretty sure that Preston was somehow right behind him when the man spoke. "They did look right at home with the stock. Made quick progress with our shyest pair."

"Really?" Fox sounded thoughtful, and Jack's roiling stomach clenched tight. "Why don't you trot them on out for us?"

"Yes, sir. And the kit?"

"Oh, yes," the man sounded downright delighted. "Our performers sometimes need a little encouragement, don't they?"

"I don't think that stairwell is wide enough for a horse," Mac observed, trying for a lecturing tone, and Jack raised his spinning head when he heard Fox's hard-soled shoes slap crisply across the smooth concrete floor. The man stopped in front of Mac, his hands tucked into his silk trousers, and cocked his head to the side consideringly.

His eyes were a darker blue than Mac's, but no less intense, and Jack noticed for the first time that Fox wasn't all that much older. Barely over thirty. Way too young to have built such a robust trafficking empire.

"Did you know that the sheiks of Arabia used to have their prized stallions sleep with them in their bedrooms? Lying at the foot of their beds like dogs, so that they could protect them from raiders in the night."

"I did," Mac grated, and of course he did. "And I'm sure you've never gone to the same trouble."

"Well, you're right about that," Fox admitted with a slight laugh. "But the livestock is certainly valuable. Besides helping us clean up out financials, they're a very convenient way to mask large shipments of...well, pretty much anything. Hay, oats, Syrians..." He trailed off. "And to be honest, I truly prefer them to their human equivalents. Present company included, of course." He dealt Mac a swift backhand, one that Jack and clearly Mac hadn't seen coming.

"I'm thinking rat poison would be too good for you," he continued, his voice hardening, and Jack desperately tried to keep his rolling eyes focused on the pair. "Tell me what I want to know, or you'll be the first one on the auction block."

Jack didn't think for a moment that the man was bluffing. "Great idea, Einstein. Selling a federal agent...to an unsuspecting dirtbag. Don't think you'll...keep many clients that way."

The shoes slapped their way towards him—which, of course, was exactly what Jack wanted. "It wouldn't be unsuspecting—it's a selling point. Do you know how many people would pay top dollar to kill a federal agent with their own two hands?"

More than he wanted to contemplate.

"Look at me."

That would require Jack to tilt his head up, which seemed like a terrible idea. So he didn't.

Fox patted him on the face, rather gently in comparison to the way Rosen had handled Mac. "I gave you a command. Look at me."

 _Do I look like a dog to you, pal?_

Abruptly, there was a thumb, digging into the cluster of nerves under his left eyebrow, and Jack couldn't help the moan of pain. He resisted the pressure as long as he could, but when that thumbnail started digging downwards, into his tightly-closed eye, Jack gave up and let the guy wrench his head back.

"I see you like to do things the hard way, Jack. And so do I," Fox purred, quietly enough that maybe Mac couldn't hear him. Or maybe he could. "Whoever buys Mac, there, they're not interested in what he has to say. They're only interested in making him bleed."

Jack bared his teeth, unwilling to open his eye and maybe have it removed. "Dude...you don't know who you're fucking with..."

"Exactly!" the man cried out impatiently, then let out a sigh. "You're going to tell me one way or another, Jack. You might as well save him the pain, or you'll be the reason he stars in the next Hollywood snuff film."

Jack encouraged his body's next heave, hoping he could come up with a little bile for the guy's designer shoes, and Fox backed off in disgust. Now that his dizzy head had gotten used to being generally upright, Jack left it there, and was just in time to see the plain wooden door to their left open.

He almost puked again when he saw who was coming in.

Preston had them by the hand, like a doting uncle with his niece and nephew. Only the kids looked positively terrified, and their 'uncle' looked like he couldn't wait to wipe his hands down with sanitizer. Tomás still had his little dinosaur, and Sofía's free hand was clenched around a handful of her t-shirt hem. Both of the children were staring fearfully at the floor, and Sofía's nose was starting to turn red, a sure sign that she was about to start crying.

Jack closed his eyes and tried his damnedest to get a grip on his nausea. He'd made about zero progress on his restraints since being dragged in, and he could only hope that Mac was using his stint has a punching bag to weaken his own.

But even if Mac was over-exaggerating his pain, Rosen and Preston were never on the same side of the room. He couldn't get all three quickly enough to prevent them from raising the alarm. And even if Mac somehow got through the cable ties and duct tape on his wrists, his shoulders and ankles were still taped down. Plus, now that the kids were in the room...

 _This is very no bueno._

"Well, hello there," Fox greeted their newcomers, sounding overly cheerful. "Who do we have, here?"

Jack resolutely left his eyes closed, and swallowed hard against the next bout of dry heaves.

"This is Tomás," he heard fabric move, like Preston might have raised his arm to indicate the little boy, "and this is Sofía."

"Tomás and Sofía," Fox repeated pleasantly. "Well, isn't this lovely? We have two agents, and two children. Can you count, Tomás? What's two plus two?"

"Leave them alone," Mac's voice was pitched low, and Jack's eyes opened themselves automatically at his tone. Fox responded as well, looking genuinely delighted.

"Oh ho ho, have I finally gotten your attention?"

Mac was staring intently at Fox, clearly trying to keep his focus off the kids. "They're _children_. They have nothing to do with this!"

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, Mac." Jack saw Tomás finally look up, and the little boy's eyes widened as he recognized them. Sofía was still staring at the ground, doing her very best not to cry.

"They have everything to do with this." Fox gestured to the children like an auctioneer might indicate a priceless painting. "This is my business, gentlemen. This is why you're here. I buy and sell stock. Do you need affordable labor to grow your plantation? Are you tired of the endless cost and red tape of US adoption agencies? Or perhaps your own dear little child is in desperate need of a heart, or a kidney." Their captor took a step back, holding Mac's furious gaze as he laid his left hand gently on the crown of Tomás's head.

The little boy flinched hard, but he didn't make a sound.

"Most of the world sees these children as an expense. Someone they are forced to clothe, forced to feed. An endless consumption machine. Where did this batch come from?" he asked suddenly, turning to Preston.

Preston pretended to give it some thought. "Columbia, I believe."

"Columbia. One of our best suppliers. Orphanages are overflowing, contraceptives are hard to come by...so many unwanted children. So many burdens on their poverty-stricken parents."

"And you're, what? Doing them a favor?" Mac snarled, still curled over himself in his chair. Fox laughed outright.

"I'm not running a charity, here. Market determines value. They're worse than worthless in Columbia, and net hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars here. It's simple math." He turned his attention back to Tomás. "I asked you a question, little one. What's two plus two?"

"He doesn't speak English," Jack was almost surprised to hear his own voice. Fury was displacing some of his dizziness, and when Fox arched an eyebrow at him, Jack fixed him with his first decent glare since all this started.

Fox smiled broadly.

"Well, then perhaps you'd like to answer for him. He's worth about eight hundred bucks," the hand on Tomás's head bounced up and down, and the little boy shook with every touch, "whereas you and your agency are costing me _millions._ How many Tomáses would I have to go through before the cost-benefit ratio got too high?"

When his hand came back down on the boy's head, he gripped it, hard enough to make the child yelp with surprise and pain. Jack growled, pulling at his restraints, and was pleased to see a flicker of surprise on Fox's face when the chair he was tied to have a sharp, metallic crack.

"I ain't too good with word problems," Jack ground out between clenched teeth, "but if anything happens to those kids—"

"You'll tear me apart," Fox's smile had fallen. "Yes, we've been over this." He turned dismissively back to Mac. "Agency name, or Tomás, here, will go up on the block, tonight, in your place."

His partner was almost shaking with fury, but his voice was impressively steady. "You're going to do that anyway."

Fox gave him a look that was almost pitying. "Clearly, you've never been to an auction before. You sell the garbage and the knick knacks first. Those buyers are looking for throw-away items. I'll lose a few dollars, it's true, but Tomás, here, will be treated like a disposable. Since you want to learn more about my business, agents, I'll let you see that first hand."

He shoved the boy's head, hard, sending him sprawling onto the concrete floor. Tomás landed on his hands and knees, stifling his cry as well as he could, and then he froze there, too terrified to even move. On Preston's other side, Sofía whimpered and twisted her hand in his grasp. Preston smirked, then tightened his grip until she started to whine with pain.

"That's enough! Leave them alone!" Mac shouted, his fists yanking at his bonds—which didn't give.

Jack's heart dropped into his swirling stomach.

There was really no way out of this.

"And that's the other reason he'll be used and tossed," Fox added with obvious distaste, as if Mac hadn't spoken. "Crying's a turn-on when it's a teen, but it's a little too grating on the ears when they're this young."

Jack's vision blurred a little as another wave of dizziness washed over him, but he could make out the little stuffed dinosaur, still clutched in the boy's hand, and the way his tiny fingers wrapped around it until they turned white.

"Say goodbye, Mac."

Jack heard an angry exhale, and turned his head in time to see that Fox had moved. It looked like he had Mac by a handful of hair.

"I said, say goodbye," Fox repeated icily when Mac remained silent. "He should know that he's never going to see either one of you ever again."

Still, Mac said nothing, so Fox jerked his chin, and Rosen swooped in from somewhere over Jack's shoulder. He grabbed Tomás by the back off his t-shirt, lifting him bodily off the floor, and the boy squealed in pain and panic. Jack barely heard Mac over his own shout, but Sofía's terrified cry was able to cut through them both effortlessly.

" _Tomás!_ "

"Okay!" Mac tried—and failed—to shake off Fox's hand. "We're contractors with the US government! Now put him down!"

Fox was smiling again, as if all the noise pleased him, and he did release Mac, then, to pat him on the head like he'd done to Tomás. "A private firm, huh? Eh..." he seemed to think about it. "Nope. Try again."

Rosen set Tomás down on his feet, and the boy jerked a little in the man's grasp. Tears were now running down his face, silently, and he was staring at the floor with his lower jaw jutting out. Trying so hard to be quiet.

To be brave.

"It's the truth," Mac tried hard to make it sound defeated, but Jack could hear the tension thrumming just beneath. His partner was close to panic. "We're based out of LA; we were selected because we're close and we know the area—"

"Still a nope." Fox thumped the back of Mac's head with a finger, loud enough that Jack heard it. Like he was a misbehaving child. "Tomás, dile adiós a Mac."

 _Say goodbye to Mac._

Jack shook his head before he realized it was a very bad idea. "Dude, we're givin' ya...what you wanted. Let'im'go."

Rosen made an angry noise and tightened his hold on the boy before ripping the dinosaur from his grasp and throwing it to the floor, leaning down so he could speak into the trembling child's ear.

"Look at the boss when he's talkin' to you," he growled, his voice making Tomás flinch back from him.

"Dile adiós a Mac." Fox's voice was less friendly this time.

The head shake had re-swirled Jack's world, but somehow he was able to see Tomás perfectly clearly. The little boy's cheeks were wet with tears, and his dark eyes slowly crawled up towards Fox and Mac. He was calmer than his cellmate, but his reddening eyes were almost black with fear.

Fox grabbed another handful of Mac's hair and wrenched his head back until Mac hissed. "¿No quieres decir adiós?"

 _Don't you want to say goodbye?_

Goodbye to the nice men who promised him that they weren't going to let anyone hurt him.

All they'd taught that poor kid was that the good guys lose, and the bad guys always win. Jack gritted his teeth against another bout of dry heaves.

At another shake from Rosen, Tomás opened his mouth. His lips were trembling, just a little, but he tried to make his voice steady. "...adiós."

Mac exhaled sharply, just trying to breathe in the position he was being held in. Somehow when he spoke, though, he managed to sound calm. "Todo va a...estar bien, Tomás. Te lo prometo."

He couldn't promise that, and they all knew it; one look at the kid told Jack that Tomás didn't believe him. The kid was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, his determined bravery not quite masking the fearful, pleading look in his eyes. Jack wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of what to say. It wasn't as though they could do anything to protect him; even telling Fox the truth evidently wasn't enough. The realization of the extent of their helplessness made a cold pit form the former Delta's pitching stomach.

Fox's amused chuckling pulled Jack's attention, and the older agent's jaw set at the look of enjoyment on the man's face.

"Oh, I'm sure it _will_ be okay, Mac," Fox mocked. "He'll be treated to a ride in a lovely car, walk into a fancy house, maybe even have a nice dinner. Although, I'm thinking that the parts he'll want to remember will probably end there. Do you suppose he'll think about you, when he's bleeding out in the trash heap? About that promise you just made him? Or maybe—" he indicated the other child, crying quietly in Preston's grip, "he'll be worrying about his little friend. Wondering if the same thing was going to happen to her. Either way, he's going to know how much you lied to him today."

He tapped Mac on the nose, and the agent recoiled from him as much as he could. "You really shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Mac. Especially to children."

Mac didn't answer, trying to catch his breath, and Fox chuckled before giving Rosen a nod. The guard tugged on Tomás's arm roughly, then opened the door and yanked him out as the forgotten stuffed dinosaur was kicked carelessly into the corner.

Jack couldn't seem to catch his breath, and he flexed his wrists again, but he had no leverage for the action to make any difference. Preston made a tsking sound and dragged a sobbing Sofía to stand right in front of him.

"Agency."

"He's tellin' you...the truth, you son of a bitch!" Jack had to stop to swallow the saliva collecting under his tongue, and he pulled his struggles up short when Preston rested his hand heavily on Sofía's shoulder, pulling her closer to his leg even as she tried to cower away.

The threat was obvious.

Jack tempered his tone somewhat. "What, you thought you could...fund terrorism, and that...wouldn't pop up...on anybody's radar?"

"Terrorism?" Fox scoffed, and Jack heard Mac growl as his head was also shoved roughly forwards—just like Tomás. "I'm running a business, here. A corrupt government is useful, I'll admit, but no one wants human capital with missing limbs. I need my stock intact. Now, if you're talking about the customers paying to use my infrastructure...I have no control over what other people do with their money. Take it up with them."

"...Trafficking as a service," Mac muttered, and Jack glanced at his partner, watching the gears turn. "That's how you expanded so quickly. You rented out your mules and tunnels to anyone who could pay."

Fox gave a slow, sarcastic clap. "Well, you are definitely the brains of the pair, huh? Very good, Mac. Head of the class. We got the idea from UPS—what can brown do for you?" He gave a theatrical grimace. "Worst tagline of any advertising campaign ever, but that kind of organized logistics was a gap that needed filling. You bring us a package, and as long as it meets spec, we deliver. Every business needs multiple streams of income."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, you're a regular Rockefeller." Then his sluggish brain caught on to the thing Fox had just given away. "Who's the 'we'?"

Fox glanced back at Jack. "Agency. Name."

"We already told you. We're contractors—"

Fox made a sound like a game show buzzer, and Jack's eyes were drawn back to Sofía as she hiccupped out a sob. Preston had tangled his fingers into her hair so that she couldn't just duck under his reach, and she was shaking so hard that she could barely stand. Surrounded by screaming adults, shouting in a language she could barely understand—

Her eyes were frantically scanning the room, desperate for a place to hide, and when they fell on him, he gave her the most reassuring look he could.

That hair and those eyes, she coulda been a six-year-old Riley Davis.

"It's the truth!" Mac was also trying hard to control his voice. "We work for an organization called the Phoenix Foundation. We have contracts with—"

"Never heard of it," Fox interrupted briskly, glancing over at his employee. "You ever hear of it?"

"Can't say I have," Preston murmured. "Which isn't very good news for Sofía, here, unfortunately."

The little girl sobbed harder when she picked out her name, and Fox frowned at her.

"Why even ask us if you're not going to believe us?" Mac challenged angrily. "Call them; they'll confirm we're theirs!"

Jack wasn't entirely sure that was true, but he could see where Mac was headed from a mile away. Their only play now was stalling. Giving small bites of information, with just enough truth to keep them asking. If they were dumb enough to call Matty, that would give Riley another breadcrumb. And even if this all went to hell, even if he and Mac never saw the light of day again, Matty would hunt these guys down like the fuckers they were, and find them long before they had a chance to use that intel to mount any kind of retaliatory attack.

"Mac, I'd love to believe you." Fox held out his hand, and Preston stared at him blankly for a second, then quickly reached into the side pocket of his coat. He withdrew a small white plastic package, roughly the size of a pencil box, and after he handed it over, his boss made a show of unrolling it. Jack's gut did an unhappy flip-flop as more drugs came into view—mostly in the form of pills and powders rather than syringes.

"But you understand why I don't, right?" He said it like he actually hoped Mac did. "The two of you just shrugged off over twenty-four hours of hell. No one does that. Not even masochists do that."

"They really don't," Preston confirmed conversationally, and he absently yanked Sofía against his leg again as she tried to cower away.

"That tells me you have training. And experience. Two things I value in my employees and in my livestock." He looked over the drugs for a second. "But I've seen this flick before. You give me an answer, and off I toddle down a rabbit hole. What happens if I google this organization of yours? Huh? Your people will track my IP address back here?"

Jack very carefully didn't change his expression, and he knew without looking that Mac was doing the same.

Fox shook his head. "The tech you had with you was first rate. And I should know; we dodge law enforcement on every inhabited continent. This whole place?" he gestured to the ceiling with the packet of drugs, "Airgapped. Totally disconnected from the internet. Just like every detail of our logistics and suppliers. No one's hacking into this facility."

The one good thing about a stomach already tied up in knots: it couldn't get any tighter. _That_ was why Riley hadn't found them. Why she might not be able to—not in time. Not unless she somehow found evidence of the car, or the explosion didn't totally white out satellite coverage—

"You're wrong," Mac told him flatly. "I'm not lying, and I'm not setting you up. If you're going to kill us, then do it, but you don't need to hurt her."

Jack silently signaled his approval in the form of a glance. Not that it was even a question.

Fox frowned at Mac thoughtfully. Then he surprised them both by turning around and tossing the roll of drugs onto the aluminum table behind him. To Jack's blurry gaze, it looked like he then literally picked part of the table's shining silver surface right off of it. Only when he turned did Jack realize it was a thin tablet.

"You're absolutely right," Fox said evenly. He was briefly distracted by the tablet, and tapped it a few times, obviously scrolling through options. "I don't need to hurt her."

Focusing on Foxy was starting to hurt, and Jack closed his eyes and took a few open-mouthed breaths, trying to calm the nausea.

"I don't think you fully understand the supply chain, here, Mac. Human capital is acquired, it is transported to sites for auction, sold, and then used, however the client sees fit. I know you've seen the results—we've had to write off several transports thanks to you. And my men made sure you'd know that we didn't appreciate that." His voice was less distracted, there. Harder. "But I think you're missing a very important part of the picture."

Jack opened his eyes in time to see Foxy flip the tablet so that it was facing Mac. It was too far away and too difficult to focus his watering eyes, but the audio was crisp.

* * *

 **!URGENT MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR!**

 **THE NEXT CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE, DEATH, AND SEXUAL ASSAULT. IF YOU FEEL YOU NEED TO SKIP THAT, PLEASE, _PLEASE_ DO. I HAVE CUT OUT AS MUCH OF IT AS I CAN WITHOUT REMOVING MAJOR PLOT POINTS. I WILL SUMMARIZE THE IMPORTANT POINTS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE NEXT RELATIVELY-SAFE CHAPTER.**

 **More upbeat A/N at the end of this 3-part chapter.**


	4. READER DISCRETION ADVISED

**ONE LAST WARNING: THIS CHAPTER, WHILE NOTHING IS EVER EXPLICITLY STATED, HEAVILY IMPLIES SOME PRETTY NASTY SHIT. IF YOU EVEN FOR A MOMENT THINK THAT THIS MAY BE TOO MUCH FOR YOU, PLEASE SKIP THIS. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES, GUYS.**

* * *

Some type of factory—there was a lot of industrial noise. Impact manufacturing, maybe, involving something other than metal. Whoever was manning the camera started shouting in Vietnamese, and then Jack barely made out a soft voice. It was pleading. It was a child.

The next sound was all-too familiar. The sound of a boot stomping, and the wet crack of a limb being broken through brute force. The child started shrieking in pain. The cameraman screamed back. Jack clearly heard another strike, this one a body blow. The scream was physically cut off, unable to be continued, and then Jack heard repeated hits. Heard frantic scrabbling, fingernails on wood. Ribs breaking. Wet gurgling.

Mac had turned his face away from the tablet, unintentionally looking his way, and while Jack's vision wasn't great, he could see the barely-veiled stricken look on his partner's face.

 _There's nothin' you can do for him, bud,_ Jack tried to say with his eyes. In answer, Mac just closed his.

The man was still screaming. Jack didn't know much of the language, but he figured it was to tell all the other child laborers to keep working, or the same thing would happen to them.

They'd be stomped to death.

Foxy tapped the tablet, and it went silent. "When someone in this business refers to a 'disposable,' Mac, that's what we mean. We've crunched the numbers, and it's actually more economical to toss an underperforming worker than it is to nurse them back to health. You'll get a significant uptick in production from your remaining workforce that can last several days, depending on how...motivated you make them."

There was the sound of more tapping, and Mac resolutely kept his eyes closed, and his face turned away, despite the pain that the position was obviously causing him. He didn't say a word.

"We used to pass along these insights in a monthly newsletter, but Preston got an excellent idea from his daughter's obsession with Pinterest. Articles are one thing, but pictures and videos really make some of these techniques more approachable. It started out as a few simple suggestions, but now we have an entire library." Jack transferred his glare to Preston, who seemed pleased with his boss's praise. The idea that he had a daughter, one he apparently loved, and could still put his hands on Sofía like he was—

"Much of the content is curated by our favorite customers. We throw in a three-month subscription if you spend more than five hundred US with us."

Jack dredged up a humorless smirk, trying to get Foxy's attention off Mac. "I appreciate...what you're doin' here...but I already hate'cha...don't really need another reason..."

The man laughed, sounding genuinely amused. "I'm just pointing out that Mac, here, is right. The disposables—like Tomás—they're cheap, sometimes a one-time use. But we also have clients that take very, very good care of their purchases."

Sofía had gone mostly quiet, still crying but apparently terrified by what she'd heard on the tablet, and Preston shifted her against his leg again. "Perhaps they'd like to see Garrett?"

"We're telling you the truth," Mac tried again, his voice trembling just slightly, and Jack honestly couldn't tell how much of that was because of the pain he was so clearly in and how much was because of the desperation he so clearly felt. He turned very deliberately back towards Fox. "Don't hurt her...please."

"Garrett is a fine example," Fox approved, as if Mac hadn't spoken. "Not everyone is shopping for cheap labor. Many of our clients are looking for companionship." He focused back on Mac, gesturing with the tablet. "Every once in a while, we come across someone with that certain...je ne sais quoi...that Mac, here, has in spades."

He jammed the tablet under Mac's chin, forcing his head back and up as the blond agent tried to stifle a grunt of pain, and Jack growled low in his throat.

Their captors ignored him.

Fox smirked, shoving the tablet's edge hard enough into Mac's throat to elicit a cough. "Most of the people shopping for pretty boys only have one thing on their minds," he continued bluntly, studying the young man's face. Then he dragged the tablet along Mac's jawline, finally releasing him with a firm tap. "You bend them over a table and you get what you paid for." Jack's partner just glared, stifling another cough, and Fox found whatever it was he was looking for on the tablet.

He surprised Jack by sauntering over to him and holding the tablet right in front of him. Jack didn't even glance at it, preferring to glare at Foxy. The man simply raised an eyebrow at him and lifted the tablet into his line of sight as the video started to play. It was exactly what it sounded like—and there was definitely audio.

The victim was no more than fifteen. A blond kid—naturally, Fox would choose whatever footage most favored Mac—and the aggressor was a fairly-unassuming, wiry guy, pushing forty. His face was blurred, but the kid's wasn't, and that was where whatever sick fuck who'd shot the footage was the most focused. The terror and agony in his expression was both heart-wrenching and sickening, and it thankfully took nearly all of Jack's focus to keep himself from gagging again.

"But eventually that gets old," Fox continued blandly. "Then you've got a miserable, cringing teen in the house. They stop crying. They get numb. It stops being fun." The young boy in question let out a particularly guttural cry of pain, and Jack decided that vertigo was preferable, and closed his eyes. Fox tapped the tablet, and it went quiet.

"So a few of our clients started offering suggestions. Little projects for the others to try. Here's the exact same boy, three months later."

Jack would have closed his ears, too, if he could have. But this time, there was no screaming, no sound of flesh being pounded—with fists or anything else. Instead, there was a pleasant clinking of metal on ceramics.

"No, remember, I like the egg, then the bacon on top, and then the relish on _that_."

Some more clinking, which Jack finally recognized as a fork and knife, on a plate. Someone let out a little huff of irritation, and then an older man laughed.

"Yes, there you go. You try that bite."

There was the wet sound of someone's mouth working, and then a surprised, pleased noise. This voice was younger. _The kid_ , Jack realized with a lurch. The old fucker was trying to bond with the kid. They were eating together.

"Do you like it?"

Someone swallowed. "...yeah..."

"Good. Now me."

Jack turned his face away, and not in his partner's direction. Grooming the kid to be his slave. Wait on him hand and foot. Literally feed him. There was a tap on the tablet, and the breakfast scene ended. Jack listened to Foxy keep scrolling.

"And here is the same boy again, two months after that."

They were definitely back in the bedroom. Fabric was being shifted in a very rhythmic pattern, and someone sucked in a long, deep breath, then moaned in pleasure.

"That...right there..." Same voice. Almost the same tone he'd used when he'd been directing the boy on how he liked his bites of egg, just a little huskier. "I like that...more tongue...faster. Say 'allah nonna'..."

Jack wasn't sure he'd heard that right, until the boy's voice came back, obediently trying to say the sounds around a very full mouth. A little heavy breathing later, the kid kept gamely at it, until the man gasped, and the boy choked as if something had just been crammed down his throat. Drugs aside, Jack was certain he was going to be sick.

Again the tablet went silent as more footage was located. "Now, it's hardly unheard of that someone could groom a teenager into a willing participant in five months. Fast forward just one more month..."

Jack cleared his throat as it tried very hard to deposit more bile into his mouth. "Dude...watch your porn somewhere else..."

"What about this one?"

It was the boy's voice. Carefree, fearless. There was a lot of murmuring in the background; they were in public. Maybe a store in a mall. There was a crowd around, chatting and laughing, and someone speaking indistinctly on a PA system.

"You like him?"

There was a small hesitance. " _You_ like him," the boy said slyly. "I know what you like."

The man gave a hearty laugh. "You're right. I do like him."

Against his will, Jack's eyes flew open.

He was right; they were no longer in the man's house. Well-dressed men and women were clustered around tall cocktail tables, with small slips of paper and pens sprouting in artful displays from elegant champagne flutes in the center of the linen-covered tables. Lined up on the stage, each one standing over a number, were naked kids. They ranged in ages from probably five or six all the way up to late teens, all different heights, builds, colors, ethnicities. Girls and boys alike.

It was an auction.

The camera was over the man's shoulder, focused on the blond boy. He was dressed in an expensive black suit, complete with a black silk oxford shirt and a jaunty, hunter-green handkerchief in his lapel pocket. He looked a bit slimmer than he had before, taller. There were faint circles under his eyes, which had an unnatural, sharp focus to them. His smile was almost hungry, his need to please and impress the man who had abused him readily evident in his expression, in his tightly-wound movements.

The image wobbled as Jack's dizziness protested his eyes being open—honestly, he wished the damn vertigo would make up its mind—but it was clear enough to see that the man reached out and stroked the boy's hair, and the boy closed his eyes with pleasure and relief, leaning into the touch.

The footage changed. The teenager was now stripped to just his trousers, his chest white and scrawny but relatively unmarked. He grinned at the camera, bouncing on the balls of his bare feet a little in clear anticipation. The way he was wired, constantly in motion...it reminded Jack of a junkie.

The former Delta dragged his eyes—slowly—towards Fox, who was watching him. "Lemme guess. Your little...welcome kit...has some kinda designer...drugs in it?"

Foxy broke out into a bright smile. "There _is_ a brain in there. Yes, Jack. Absorbed through the skin. The boy never knew he was being dosed. All he knew was that he was anxious, in pain, sick when his master was upset with him, and filled with well-being when he was being touched and fawned over."

"You know what I like," the man in the video crooned, apparently giving some sort of permission, and Jack glanced back at the tablet in time to see a knowing smile split the teen's face. The camera panned out to show a well-appointed bedroom in rich ivories and burgundies, with a little sitting area in front of a cheerfully-burning stone fireplace. A little tow-headed boy, no more than nine or ten years old, was cowering near it, wearing—

Wearing the same sweatpants and shirt that Tomás and Sofía were wearing.

Jack tracked what was about to happen long before the teenager laid a hand on the kid, and quickly turned away, ignoring the immediate, violent protest of his head and gut. Fox tsked, even as the youngest child in the video started babbling frantically in a foreign language.

"But this is the best part," Fox told him, his amusement evident. The babbling turned to choked cries and a struggle. "Six months to turn a victim into an eager partner. Creativity and faculties intact. Withdrawal can be fatal, of course, but he's still tweaking the formula. Very partial to blonds. He's one of our best customers—here tonight, actually."

A young voice cried out in shock and pain, and the man's voice came back, hoarse with lust. "Turn him towards me."

"Turn that shit off," Jack snarled, trying to use his own voice to drown out the audio.

"These were shot, oh, maybe eight months ago?" Fox turned lazily to glance at Preston, who confirmed with a nod. "They buy a new toy every other month, which is why they're here tonight."

He made no move to stop the footage, and Jack tried to focus on literally anything else. The teenager in the video didn't make that easy. His cries of pleasure were unrestrained and raw, and a groan closer to the microphone told them all that the only adult in the room was enjoying the view.

"I wonder if they'd go for someone Mac's age," Fox murmured thoughtfully, making a chill shoot down Jack's spine.

Preston seemed to mull it over, and as much as Jack hated to give them his attention, it was better than the alternative.

"Garrett calls the shots these days," Preston said finally, once again tightening his grip on Sofía as she whimpered quietly. "I shudder to think what a hormone-fueled teenager would come up with, particularly for a fed who thinks he needs to be _rescued_." He shot a smirk over his shoulder, towards Mac. "I'd love to watch you try to convince him that he's a victim."

'Garrett' finished up with a shaky cry, and Jack transferred his glare back to Fox. "You two should really...get a room."

Fox's eyes cut back to him—then settled very deliberately on Sofía. "This one will do fine."

Jack's blood ran cold, and he would have straightened if he wasn't already tied as upright as he could possibly be. "Don't you fuckin' _touch_ her—"

"There's another term you should know, Mac," Foxy spoke right over him. "It's called a party favor." He tapped the tablet, where it sounded like the older man had moved in for sloppy seconds, and mercifully stopped the playback. "It's fairly self-explanatory."

Mac hadn't dropped the distressed act, and Jack honestly wasn't sure how much of it was still an act. "It's the truth! I swear, it's the truth. We're working a contract for the federal government—Please! You don't have to do this," he pleaded through clenched teeth, his words accented by short, ragged breaths, even as Fox picked up the welcome kit and unzipped a pouch, selecting a small, light blue pill.

"You're willing to die to protect your boss, and that's commendable. But you're not willing to harm one little hair on her cute widdle head. I knew it the second I met you, Mac." He smiled indulgently at them. "With that in mind, I'm going to go ahead and spend Sofía, here, to confirm your story. When _she's_ been through twenty-four hours of hell, and you're singing the same song? Then I might believe you."

"She's not a commodity! She's a little girl!" The intensity of his own shout made Jack gag.

Fox glanced down at her, then gave a mock gasp of surprise. "Watch your tone, there, Jack. I think you're scaring her."

It stung more than he wanted to admit that Fox was right. Sofía was cowering now against Preston's leg, not away from him—probably because he was the only person who wasn't yelling. The hand that he'd tangled into her hair earlier was now caressing it, running soothingly over the back of her head and neck. The man's eyes, however, were not on the little girl. Instead, he was watching Mac, and his smile was cold.

"Don't! Don't do this. Please," Mac begged, the very picture of a cowed agent. Playing to Fox's ego. "I'll give you everything we have on your operation, just don't do this!"

"This is the other problem with younger kids. They freeze up when they get scared." Fox crouched down beside her, rolling the pill in his fingers. "Sofía?"

" _Don't!_ "

Sofía was weeping loudly, now, still shaking like a leaf, and her tear-stained face remained pointed downwards as her eyes studied the concrete floor with rapt attention. Preston reached around to grab her chin—gently—and pushed it towards his boss.

"Quítate la ropa," Fox instructed, almost kindly.

 _Take off your clothes._

Jack's stomach lurched, and it had nothing to do with the drugs. "He told you...the truth, you bastard! We work for the Phoenix—"

"So we give them a benzo," Fox continued conversationally, completely ignoring them, as Sofía struggled to turn away from him. "Loosens them up a little. The fun part, when they're this age, is just how damn curious they are once they relax."

Preston reached down and rubbed the girl's back soothingly. Gone was the malice. In its place was something far worse. "Está bien, Sofía."

Even as terrified as she was, the little girl pulled away when Fox held out the pill.

"Stop it! Sofía," Mac almost choked on her name, the desperation thick in his words as she looked at him. "Sofía, escúchame—"

Whatever Mac wanted her to hear, Fox didn't let him say it.

"Sofía, mírame," the man interrupted, his accent flawless, and Sofía glanced fearfully back towards him, obviously unsure what to do, what was happening.

What was going to happen.

Fox was fast. He grabbed the little girl by the front of her t-shirt and dragged her closer, forcefully pinching her face, right on the hinge of her jaw. She gasped, a prerequisite for the scream, and Fox shoved the pill into her open mouth.

" _STOP!_ "

Her cry turned into frantic gagging, and Jack heaved in sympathy, even while Preston reached around from behind her to cover her mouth. Fox then turned his hand, gently stroking her throat with the backs of his fingers.

To make her swallow the pill. Like a vet giving medication to a dog.

Like he'd done it a thousand times before.

Beside him, Jack heard Mac take an unsteady breath, and Fox glanced over at him casually.

"Don't look so devastated," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "This is nothing compared to what could have happened to her. She would have ended up dead in a ditch in Columbia. I'm sure you do-gooding private contractors have a presence there, helping all the little children, right?"

It didn't matter that they were telling the truth. Fox had already made up his mind, and the Phoenix Foundation—or even DXS—didn't play into it.

They couldn't stop this. Not even if they gave up everyone involved.

Jack thought he could actually hear Mac's teeth creaking. "Don't do this. I told you, I'll give you everything, just stop. _Please—_ "

Fox turned back to Sofía, who had swallowed the pill and was sobbing uncontrollably into Preston's hand. "Te di una instrucción," he told her, not unkindly. "Ahora, quítate la ropa."

 _I gave you an instruction. Now take off your clothes._

Preston removed his hand to wipe it distastefully on his slacks, and the terrified little girl gasped desperately around her sobs and clumsily grabbed her shirt. Her incessant trembling made pulling it over her head difficult, but eventually, she managed it. Jack wouldn't look at her, his stomach churning relentlessly.

The first time he'd met Riley, she was nine years old, sitting on the couch wearing only a pair of panties, mowing her way through a bowl of popcorn while the flustered babysitter was attempting to explain that Riley's pyjamas were in the wash because Riley had decided that her unicorns needed sunglasses and rocketboards, and had drawn them directly onto her pjs. Jack remembered being in full agreement on the sunglasses and rocketboards, but also feeling faintly embarrassed, not quite sure if it was okay to look at her.

It was nothing compared to the way he felt now.

* * *

 **If you made it through that, you probably feel like you need a shower, just like I did. Immense thanks to Haven126, again; I could not have done this without her. Anyway, take a break if you need to, but please, do continue. There's a fairly happy ending.**


	5. Review, continued

**Hello, again. We're certainly talking a lot this chapter. Anyway, if you skipped the chapter, here's what you missed:**

 **-Preston has a daughter  
-A kid named Garrett was sold and brainwashed by his captor, to the point of being an eager participant  
-Fox turned his attention to Sofía  
-Fox drugged ****Sofía**

 **Those are the most important things. On with the show!**

* * *

Fox was clearly more interested in fucking with them than he was in the girl, but if he wasn't going to accept the truth—

"God _dammit!_ " Jack roared, causing everyone in the room to jump, and Sofía collapsed in fright. He still didn't look at her, pinning Fox with every ounce of his protective fury. "Phoenix is contracting...with the Company, you sick son of a bitch! It was...the only way we could touch you in the States!"

Fox was only startled for a moment. "The Company—"

" _Jack_ ," Mac started, and he transferred his glare to his partner.

He knew for a fact that Mac wasn't angry. Anyone who knew him could see the gratitude in the kid's eyes, but also the fear. Phoenix had been hitting this guy's operations around the globe—but not inside the US. And the most likely US agency to have the means to go after Fox like that was also prohibited by federal law from operating on US soil.

Fox would buy that it was the CIA, and Jack still had enough inside information to make it sound good. The problem was...

The problem was that then he had his answer. Once he believed, there was no more reason to keep them alive.

Sofía was so overwhelmed that her cries were now almost silent, screams so choked that she couldn't even get them out, and she curled up on her side, clutching her shirt to her chest. Preston glanced between Jack and Fox, then nudged her roughly with his shoe, and Jack bared his teeth at the man furiously.

Fox completely ignored her. He instead straightened and turned to face Jack, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets in obvious satisfaction. "The good ol' CIA. Was that so hard, Jack?"

Jack transferred his glare to Fox, hoping the asshole couldn't tell how blurry his vision still was. "When I get outta this chair—"

The glint of pleasure in Fox's eyes turned to annoyance. "Aaand we're back to idle threats. I think I'm honestly tired of you." He glanced back down in irritation at Sofía, who was now making tiny, rapid cries around her silent sobs. She was clutching her shirt so tightly against her face that Jack was a little afraid she was going to choke herself. Dalton took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, and caught a whiff of urine.

 _Oh, kiddo, I'm tryin', honey—_

"Little late for that, pal," Jack snarked back, even as his stomach tried to crawl up his throat. "You just...kidnapped an operative. We don't need to go through Phoenix...to nail your ass to the wall anymore. There's only one way this goes...and if you kill us, you'll be shoved into...a hole so deep and dark it'll make...what you've done to these people look like...a trip to Disneyworld."

Fox stared at him a moment, clearly more annoyed than before, and Preston read the room and grabbed Sofía by her bare arm, trying to wrench her back to her feet. Probably to get her out of the room and cut the noise. But she was beyond done—she dangled limply in his grasp, trying to melt back onto the floor. Preston shook her, extracting a fresh howl of pain, and Fox stopped him with a gesture.

"That might be the first smart thing you've said all day, Jack," The boss strode over to the table, opening an aluminum drawer and withdrawing a .45. "If your boss dares to illegally raid me and you're found here, then everything else they find would become legally admissible in court."

Jack thought about that for a second, trying to get his sluggish mind to decide if that was true or not. Mac beat him there.

"Dead, we're worthless," the blond man reminded him as Fox slowly walked back over to stand in front of Jack. "Alive, we're a bargaining chip. A businessman like you should understand the basics of negotiation."

"Oh, I do, Mac." Somehow, Jack was not surprised when the gun was leveled right at his face. "He's bad news, but you? Federal contractor? You're basically a civilian. You have value. And since you've already promised to give me everything the CIA has on me...then he's just dead weight."

Jack made a scoffing sound—or, at least, he tried. "Right here? In your nice...clean supply room?"

The trafficker cocked his head to the side, then thumbed off the safety. "I told you, Jack: People will pay top dollar to kill a fed with their own hands." He flashed the agent a feral smile. "Including _me_."

"Wait," Mac's voice was breathless, full of desperation, and Jack heard him yank against his restraints again, but he didn't look over at him. Instead, he stared as directly at Fox as he possibly could, his expression hard and full of hatred, refusing to give the man even the slightest indication of fear. "Wait, please; listen to me!"

It was obvious that Fox was not going to do that, and it wasn't as if Mac had anything else to offer, now that their captors knew they could hurt Sofía to get him to do what they wanted. Jack set his jaw, just waiting for the shot. Fox was very obviously savoring the moment, but the former Delta resolutely gave him nothing—no glimmer of any emotion other than hatred and anger. He wanted to reassure his partner, tell him that it was alright, that this wasn't his fault, but he knew that was what Fox wanted to hear. And so, he remained silent.

 _I'm so sorry, Mac..._

The seconds stretched like hours, but just as both agents were certain that Fox was done soaking in the experience, and ready to pull the trigger, the lights above them flickered, but stayed on. All four of them looked towards the ceiling, and a heartbeat later, both of their captors' phones chimed a loud, blaring tone.

"That's a door lock failure," Preston stated quietly, reaching into his pocket for his phone as Fox slightly lowered the gun in his hand. The boss frowned, withdrawing his own phone and glancing at the screen. Another alarm blared from their devices, different from the first but just as loud.

"Unauthorized exit," Preston frowned as well. Another, different alarm tone. "And there's the perimeter—boss, I think we've got a runner."

Fox growled in frustration, finally putting his gun down and tucking it away, much to Mac's obvious relief.

"Stay with them," Fox ordered irritably. "I'm gonna see what's going on."

With this, the man stalked out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him, and Mac, Jack, and a still-sobbing Sofía were left alone with Preston, just waiting for him to return.

* * *

"Riley, I've got a bad feeling about this," Bozer's voice was quiet as the pair crept through the darkness towards the main entrance of the Silver Ridge Stables, the ranch they'd tracked the guard to. To avoid being spotted by any perimeter guards, they'd ditched their car around the bend so that it wasn't visible from the grounds. Now, they were relying on the darkness around them to remain hidden.

"Do you want to go back to the car?" Riley asked, shooting him a look over her shoulder.

"No," Bozer grumbled, almost pouting.

"Then shut up," the analyst hissed.

Bozer frowned, but didn't protest further as they approached the fence surrounding the property. After checking to make sure no guards were wandering around near them, they quickly hopped it and scurried towards the nearest structure—one of two stables on the property. The pair crouched in the shrubbery, hiding themselves from view.

"So what now?" Bozer whispered. Admittedly, Riley hadn't exactly given him a plan before arriving.

"I have to gain access to their system," she explained quietly. "It doesn't matter what I'm hooked up to, as long as it's on their network."

"So, what are we looking for?" Bozer asked, glancing around nervously.

"Anything," Riley breathed. "Generators, heating, AC, humidifiers, badge scanners—"

"Keypads?" Bozer interrupted, his eyes drawn to a black box mounted to the side of the building they were hiding beside, right next to the door. Riley followed his eyes and smiled.

"Exactly."

Riley crept quietly towards the keypad, staying low to avoid detection. She slipped off her backpack, retrieving her laptop and an ethernet cable. Her eyes scanned the area quickly, and then she plugged one end of the cable into the bottom of the keypad and the other into her rig, opening the screen as she settled in with her back against the wall of the stable. After a few moments, she had complete and total access to every last one of their systems—alarms, sensors, locks, cameras, the whole nine yards. At that moment, she finally turned her coms back on.

"—as fast as we can, Matty," Simmons was saying. "Another ten or fifteen minutes, tops."

"Go faster, Simmons," Riley hissed as she started going through the camera feeds, hoping to catch a glimpse of their missing colleagues.

"Riley, what the hell?" Matty snapped as soon as she heard the analyst's voice. "I told you not to go there!"

"It was the only way I could gain access to their system," Riley whispered with a shrug as Bozer kept a lookout for guards.

"You..." Matty began, but broke off with a sigh. "Fine. Later. Have you gotten in?"

"Yeah," Riley confirmed, still scanning the camera feeds. There were dozens of them, organized in clusters, likely by proximity. "Looks like they're having an auction. I've got about fifty people—maybe more—in a big room, and..." she frowned, her stomach churning, "they've got a kid up on a stage. They're taking bids."

"Don't worry, Riles," Carter spoke up. "We'll be there in a few minutes; they're not getting away."

"Do you have eyes on Mac and Jack?" Matty asked, getting them refocused.

"I'm looking..." Riley grumbled, her eyes narrowing slightly. After a few tense moments, her eyes grew wide, and she clicked on one of the feeds. Was it really...?

Yes. With the camera and their captors positioned the way they were, Riley couldn't get a clear look at their faces, but there was no doubt in her mind that she was looking at Mac and Jack.

"I got 'em," she reported anxiously, taking in the scene unfolding before her. "They're both alive. Two men are in there with them, and a little girl." Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized what was happening.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "Oh, my God, Matty, they're going to kill him; they've got a gun on Jack."

"Do something, Riley," Matty ordered, her voice steady.

"Like what?" the analyst demanded, her breaths coming in short, quiet gasps. "What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do?"

"Distract them," Simmons ordered. "It doesn't matter how; just do it. And do it fast. Carter and I will be there in ten, and Todd's on the way with SWAT; you just gotta buy a little bit of time."

"I don't—" Riley's voice was tight with panic, but Ramirez cut her off.

"Riley," he said sharply, "just do it. You know how to; don't think about it."

Riley didn't respond. She didn't have the time; if she waited even one more second, she'd be watching Jack die. She went with the very first thing that came to her mind: cut the power. Then, the generators would kick in. Set off an alarm—far away from them—to keep their attention. A door alarm. Then, an exit alarm. Make them think one of their captives was making a run for it. Seal the deal with the closest perimeter alarm beyond that exit.

Her keystrokes came naturally, and she held her breath as the lights flickered and the first alert went out. Then the second. Then the third. She didn't allow herself to breathe again until the gun was lowered and the man aiming it had stepped away from Jack. Only then did she let out her breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

"That won't hold them for too long," she warned. "We've gotta get in there right now."

"I'll go," Bozer volunteered.

"No," Matty refused immediately.

"Boze, we are ten minutes out," Simmons reminded him. "Mac and Jack will be fine."

"They were literal _seconds_ away from killing Jack just now," Riley snapped quietly. "They didn't leave them alone; they could still kill them at any time. Not to mention the fact that there's a little girl in there, too, that they could hurt in the meantime. Matty, please; I can guide Boze through. They'll never know he's there."

"Riley," Matty began with a sigh, but Riley felt a rush of fury and had to fight to control the volume of her voice as she cut her boss off.

"You wouldn't listen to me before, and that's how they got taken in the first place," the analyst growled. "Jack just almost died, and _God_ knows what's going on with Mac. What the hell is gonna happen if you don't listen to me now?"

Matty hesitated, and Riley held her breath, wanting her boss to agree even though she'd already decided that, no matter what Matty said, if Bozer wouldn't go in, she would. She wasn't going to let Mac and Jack get even more hurt—or worse—because people wouldn't _listen_ to her.

"Fine," their boss agreed at last, allowing Riley relax a bit. "But Boze, you get in there, you get Mac and Jack, and the three of you don't move until tac gets there. Got it?"

"Got it," Bozer nodded, shifting to the balls of his feet. "Ready when you are, Riley."

Riley quickly pulled up the camera feeds she would need, mapping out a route for him.

"Okay," she sighed, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear before she looked at her colleague. "Go."

* * *

Mac was shaking in the chair he was bound to, pulling anxiously against his bonds, his eyes flicking back and forth between the door that Fox had just left through and the space to his right, where Preston, Jack, and Sofía were. Every muscle in his body was still being pulled tight against his will, and that coupled with the fact that his blood sugar was low enough that he was almost certainly hypoglycemic meant that the leftover adrenaline from watching them nearly kill Jack was the only thing keeping him going.

The blond agent didn't know how long Fox would be gone, but he knew he had to think fast if they were going to get out of there alive. Jack, still clearly suffering from the drugs they had him on, kept shooting him reassuring glances while they waited in tense near-silence, as though he'd already accepted his fate, and that just made Mac feel worse. He heard a quiet hiccup of a sob, and his eyes fell to Sofía, curled up on the floor, so completely and utterly terrified that she couldn't even function. His heart ached for her. He fully understood why Jack had spoken up when he did—and thanked _God_ he had—but he also knew that their words would do nothing to save her. They may have stopped this trauma, but Fox wasn't going to just let her go when they were gone. They didn't save her by talking; they only saved themselves from having to watch. The realization made him feel sick to his stomach.

He had to do something, and fast. He had to get them out of there, but he had nothing. No plan, no resources, nothing. His wrists were throbbing from his incessant pulling, and the rest of his body felt like it was on fire. His helplessness was pushing him towards panic.

"Please," he was trying to sound desperate, of course—getting their captors to let their guard down could only help them—but at this point, it really wasn't hard to try. "Please, just listen to me; you don't want to do this."

"Oh, give it up, Mac," Preston chuckled, stepping towards him. "You've both already given us everything. It's over; you may as well accept it."

"Well if that's the case," Jack sighed, blinking slowly and trying very hard to breathe evenly. "Then tell me somethin'..."

Preston gave a theatrical shrug, turning to face the older man. "Sure."

"So you...you have a daughter," Jack began, and Mac watched Preston's smirk disappear, his eyes becoming hard. Mac's stomach tightened, mentally begging his partner not to tempt their captor. "And you can still do all this...to kids her age and younger; explain that to me."

Preston didn't answer, expression full of growing anger. When he didn't speak, Jack pressed on.

"Because I just don't understand...how you can do this all day...and then go home and kiss her goodnight...like nothing happened," he continued, seemingly oblivious to Preston's shift in demeanor. "See, I've got a daughter, too...Smarter than I'll ever be...doesn't miss much...and I've done some pretty nasty things. None as bad...as what you're doing, of course...and all for good reason...but it would sometimes take me a day or two...to be able to look her in the eye. I always thought...she'd be able to see it in me...and I didn't want to put that on her. Kids need their parents...to protect 'em, y'know? S'how will your daughter react...when she finds out what Daddy really does for a living?"

Preston's eyes flashed, and he stomped towards Jack furiously, not noticing—or perhaps just not caring—when he stomped on Sofía's hair in the process, making her shriek in pain and start her crying up again with renewed vigor. Before either agent could even process what was happening, Preston dealt Jack a vicious backhand, forcing a cry from his throat as his head snapped back. Mac pulled on his restraints again, his fear for his partner and frustration with his helplessness nearly bringing tears to his eyes.

Preston, meanwhile, grabbed Jack by the jaw, turning his head again so that he was looking him in the eyes.

"Listen to me, you pathetic piece of shit," Preston snarled, fury in his eyes. "You bring my daughter into this one more time, and it will be the last thing you ever do; got it?"

"Oh, no, did I hit a nerve?" Jack's tone was challenging, practically daring Preston to do something to him without getting Fox's okay first. Mac wished to God he wouldn't, but he knew there was no stopping him. "What, you gonna kill me? Doesn't change a damn thing...an' man, whaddya think she'll say...when she hears about everything...you've been doing to those poor people? To those kids? Can't you...can't you just picture...the look on her face? That look of...disgust, and anger, and betrayal, and confusion? I...I can see it now..."

Their captor was practically shaking with rage at this point, and he released his grip on the former Delta only to bring his fist back and punch him as hard as he could in the jaw. Jack gave a sharp cry, his head whipping to the side. This time, when Preston grabbed him, it was by the throat.

"Alright," he snarled in his prisoner's face. Mac watched Jack struggle to breathe past the man's grasp, and he pulled desperately against his restraints, barely staving off panic.

 _C'mon...c'mon; why won't you just break?!_

"You don't care what happens to you? Fine," Preston continued. "Let's not talk about you. You say one more word regarding my daughter, and I will _personally_ see to it that your partner ends up in the worst hell he can imagine. I'll make sure he never sees the light of day again. He'll live long after you're gone, and _long_ after he starts wishing he was dead. That's a promise."

Jack grumbled something that Mac couldn't quite make out, but whatever he said made Preston tighten his grip, and Jack gave a small cough.

"Maybe you're right," the man's voice had become frighteningly cold. "Your buddy sure does seem to have an impressive imagination. But he's not the only one we have our hands on, is he? You should have learned long ago never to make friends in a place like this; it makes you so much easier to manipulate."

"Please," Mac forced the word past his lips, his tight muscles howling in pain, just trying to get Preston's attention off Jack. Before he could say anything else, they heard the door handle turn suddenly, then freeze. Preston finally pulled his eyes away from Jack, looking instead at the door. The handle was still bent, like someone was holding it down but not quite walking in. They waited, expecting Fox to waltz back in, but instead, the handle slowly released, like someone was trying not to be noticed.

Preston frowned, finally releasing his grip on Jack's throat, allowing the man to gasp and cough in his chair. Their captor slowly made his way towards the door, seeming suspicious and cautious, and Mac's chest heaved with anticipation, hoping it was anyone but Fox on the other side.

 _Hell, I might even take Murdoc at this point,_ he thought to himself. _At least he wouldn't kill us yet._

When he was standing right in front of the door, Preston hesitated, then reached for the handle. Right before he grabbed it, the door flew open, hitting him in the face and making him stumble back with a cry of pain, blood leaking from his nose. Mac gaped, watching in shock and relief as Bozer came through the door and closed it behind him, not giving Preston a chance to recover before he kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing into the back storage shelves. The newest agent glanced around quickly and took a step towards the aluminum table, reaching for one of the many weapons on its surface. He never got the chance to choose one; Preston recovered far quicker than any of them had anticipated, and he rushed the invading agent, yanking him back from the table and shoving him to the floor beside the three metal chairs.

As Bozer coughed, the wind a bit knocked out of him, Preston picked up the weapon nearest to him on the table—this one happening to be a large hunting knife—and lunged at the younger man, much to Mac's complete and utter horror. Thankfully, Bozer reacted quickly, and grabbed one of the metal chairs, using it to deflect the attack and shove Preston backwards, allowing him to get to his feet. He kept the chair in front of him, and when Preston came at him again, Bozer swung his improvised weapon, knocking the knife from his attacker's hand. He swung again, hitting his friends' captor in the side and sending him to the floor. One final blow while he was down made him stay there, and Bozer dropped the chair at last, breathing hard as he turned and grinned at his colleagues.

"Hey, guys," he greeted them, picking up a pair of shears from the table and walking over to his roommate. "Long time, no see."

"Oh, my God," Mac gasped, dropping his head and smiling in relief. "Boze, I could be wrong, but I don't think I've ever been this happy to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, Mac," Boze nodded, cutting his best friend free of the chair at last. "Tac is on the way and Riley's outside."

"Get Jack," Mac ordered, pushing himself painfully and unsteadily to his feet. "They drugged the girl; I gotta get the pill out of her."

Bozer grumbled in agreement, moving to free Jack while Mac stumbled towards the storage shelves, barely able to straighten his limbs and nearly unable to support his own weight, having to catch himself more than once to keep himself upright. He found what he was looking for—a bottle of peroxide—immediately, having spotted it when they were first brought in; the thought of physically forcing Sofía to do anything, even something that would ultimately be good for her, made the agent sick to his stomach. Luckily, the result could be chemically induced, as well. He grabbed a paper cup and a bottle of water as well. As he turned away, he also found a small stack of spare t-shirts on one of the bottom shelves, and grabbed the largest one he could find.

Supplies gathered, he stumbled back towards Sofía and picked her up—grunting with the effort, his arms shaking and straining—and set her upright against the wall next to the door. The little girl was still sobbing and trembling, hardly aware of what was going on, too terrified to realize that Fox was gone and Preston was unconscious.

"Sofía," Mac said gently, brushing some of her hair out of her face. "Sofía, escúchame. Estás a salvo. Pero la pastilla que tomó es muy malo; hay que deshacernos de ella. ¿Entiendes?"

If Sofía _did_ understand what he was trying to tell her—that she was safe, and that they had to get the pill she took out of her—she didn't say, and she didn't look at the blond agent before her, keeping her knees up to her chest and clutching her t-shirt against her. Mac let out a sigh, looking at the young girl pityingly, then picked up the bottle of peroxide, twisting the top off and pouring just a small amount—no more than a couple tablespoons—into the paper cup, holding it out to her.

"Bebe esto," he ordered, not unkindly, hoping she's do what he said and not make him force the liquid down her throat. "No va a ser muy agradable, pero es necesario. Es solamente un poquito."

The little girl still wouldn't look at him, and Mac let out a sigh. He didn't want to do this, but he needed to get that pill out of her. His own stomach churning, the blond agent put the cup up to her lips and tilted it, forcing the contents to spill into her mouth. The little girl sputtered, trying to get the foul-tasting liquid out, but Mac—hating himself all the while—placed his hand over her mouth until she finally swallowed, coughing violently once he removed his hand. Muttering apologies in her native language, Mac gently gathered her hair behind her head, waiting. Within a minute, Sofía turned away from him, and her body ejected the meager contents of her stomach—including the pill. The young girl coughed a few times, then resumed her original position against the wall, shaking even harder now and sobbing outright.

"Lo siento mucho, Sofía," Mac apologized pityingly, unsure if she could even really hear him. He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and brought it up to her lips. At first, she fought him, but once she realized it was just water, she drank with only slight apprehension, likely trying to get the various foul tastes out of her mouth. After a few gulps, Mac pulled the water bottle back, capped it, and picked up the t-shirt, unfolding it and gathering it up so that he could easily slip it over the little girl's head. As gently as he could, the blond agent coaxed each of her arms through their respective sleeves.

"Levántate," he ordered quietly, lifting the young girl to her feet—with some difficulty on both their parts—and eased off her soiled sweats. The oversized shirt came down to her calves, resembling more of a nightgown than a t-shirt. Sofía was still crying by this point, though not quite as ferociously as she had been, but her trembling had almost gotten worse, and once Mac tossed the discarded clothes aside, she sank back down to the floor.

"Estás a salvo, Sofía," Mac assured her. "Te lo prometo. Todo va a estar bien."

Tomás didn't believe him before, and Sofía didn't believe him now. Mac let out a sigh, glancing over his shoulder at Bozer and Jack. His roommate was trying to help his partner to his feet, but Jack was pushing him away, groaning and grumbling. The blond agent turned back to Sofía.

"Quédate aquí," he told her quietly, reaching out and bracing himself against the wall beside her as he started struggling to his feet. "Todo terminará pronto."

 _Wait here. It'll all be over soon._

With this, Mac pushed his way unsteadily to his feet.

"Jack, c'mon, man," Bozer was saying, once again trying to grab Jack's arm and help him out of the chair. Once again, Jack clumsily knocked his hand away. "We don't have time for this."

"Boze, there's no way he can stand," Mac interrupted, stumbling towards them and looking around, trying to think.

"Well, none of us can stay here," his roommate huffed. "Riley can't distract these guys forever. What'd they give him, anyway?"

"Ah..." Mac blinked hard and shook his head. "Beta blockers, I think. His equilibrium's shot. And I could fix that if I could just find something to..." his eyes fell on the welcome kit, abandoned on the aluminum table, and he half shuffled, half stumbled towards it, his stiff, aching muscles protesting violently against even the slightest motion. "...up his blood pressure..."

"I dunno what you're thinkin' about, Mac," Jack mumbled. "But I really...don't like the way you said that..."

Mac rolled his eyes, but ignored him, scanning the kit, searching the powders and colorful pills for...yes. That would do the trick.

His two best friends watched as he opened one of the pouches and carefully portioned out the proper dose, collecting the small pile of white powder on the back of his hand before he slowly shuffled back to stand in front of his partner.

"Jack," he said shakily, looking up to meet the former Delta's distant gaze. "I need you to trust me, and snort this."

"Whoa, what?" Bozer interrupted.

"Mac...you know I trust you with my life...but what the hell is that?" Jack asked almost drunkenly, clearly trying hard to focus on him.

"Look, your blood pressure is at rock bottom right now," Mac sighed. "The only way you're gonna be able to get up and do anything is if we get it back up again. So...this is a very strong stimulant."

"Oh, great," Bozer caught on quickly. "Cocaine. It's cocaine, Jack."

"I gathered," Jack chuckled slightly, then shifted his unfocused eyes back to his partner. "So let me just...make sure I'm following you, Mac. I'm so sick I can't see straight...and you're telling me I should do cocaine about it?"

Mac looked down at the powder on his shaky hand, then lifted his eyes to look back at Jack. "Yes."

"Okay," Jack laughed outright. "As long as we're on the same page. Bring it on."

The younger agent scoffed, then lifted his hand towards his partner's nose. Jack quickly inhaled the powder as deeply as he could, and as Mac knew they would be, the effects were almost instant.

"Whoo!" Jack's voice was clear and strong for the first time in...Mac wasn't even sure how long. The former Delta's eyes dilated as he stood up, suddenly unencumbered. "That's good shit. Alright; Mac, you know what we gotta do now, right?"

The blond agent nodded, and he did.

"Whatever you're thinking about, Matty says stop," Bozer interrupted. He opened his mouth to say something else, then let out his breath and shook his head, digging around in his pocket before coming out with two earpieces, handing one to each of his colleagues, who took them wordlessly and inserted them into their ears.

"Both of you are getting the hell out of there and waiting for tac," Matty didn't waste time with pleasantries. "That's not up for debate. Grab the girl and get out."

"Matty, we can't do that," Mac shook his head, half sitting on the aluminum table in an effort to prevent his legs from giving out. "Like Boze said, we don't know how long Riley can keep these guys distracted. The second Fox—the ringleader, the guy who said he was Andrew Patton—realizes that the alarms were fake, he and his people are gonna start destroying all that evidence. We have to complete the mission, or else we won't stop these people. Matty, we can do this. We _have_ to do this, okay? Simmons, how long 'til you guys get here?"

"Less than five minutes," Simmons replied. "Us and Carter's team will be enough to set up a perimeter and make sure no one leaves, but we're gonna have to wait for Todd and SWAT before we actually try to shut it down, and we're lookin' at about ten minutes for that."

"That's way too long, Matty," Jack stated firmly, clearly itching to go.

"Mac at the very least is in no shape to go anywhere except home," Director Webber tried, obviously realizing that her agents were right.

"I am _fine_ , Matty," Mac rolled his eyes, even though he knew he must look terrible. "I'm stiff and sore and I'm not gonna want to move for the next three days, but right here and now, I am fine."

"And I am currently at a _thousand_ percent right now," Jack chimed in. "And you know _damn_ well I'd never let anything happen to him."

Mac looked over at his partner appreciatively as Matty let out a breath, thinking it over.

"Fine," she agreed at last. "Mac and Jack, find the boss's office and get as much intel as you can. Riley, point them in the right direction. Boze, you stay there and protect the girl until tac gets there."

"Got it," Bozer agreed as Jack quickly searched Preston's unconscious form and came away with the man's phone and gun.

"Wish us luck," the man said with a wicked grin, and Mac huffed in amusement.

Now armed, the pair started for the door, but Jack pulled up short before they made it there. "Oh, and tac, be advised, there is at least one victim in attendance as a guest at the auction—and he's probably not the only one. They're probably gonna fight you, too; I know I don't gotta say it, but keep your heads up and watch your crossfire."

"Copy that, Jack," Simmons assured him. With this, Jack led the way out into the hall, opening the door just a crack and making sure the hall was empty before they went. With Riley's voice in their ear, guiding them back to the main hall, past any roaming guards, and then uncomfortably close to the room where the festivities were taking place, stopping at the last door on the right. It was unguarded—and of course it was, as nearly all the attention was on the attendees—and unlocked, and they slipped right in.

Fox's office was so normal-looking that it felt wrong. There was a desk in the back of the room with a desktop computer, a compact printer, and a few file folders stacked on the left hand side. Two tall filing cabinets stood side-by-side in the back left corner. Lower filing cabinets lined the right hand wall, and on top of them were trinkets, plants, and other personal items. Unlike the rest of the rooms, the walls were plaster instead of concrete, making the room seem brighter, bigger, and lighter. It could fit in in any office space in the world, and that fact made Mac's stomach tighten.

The two agents looked at each other, then wordlessly got to work, Jack going for the tall filing cabinets and Mac going for the short ones, deciding to leave the computer for Riley.

"Alpha and Bravo teams in position," Simmons reported quietly. "Holding the perimeter. Todd and SWAT three minutes out. Boze, in about two minutes, I'm sending Ramirez to you so you'll be out of there by the time we move in. Once we get you out, get the girl clear of the area. Jack, you said there's at least one victim dressed like a guest?"

"That I know of," Jack confirmed, closing one cabinet drawer and opening the next. If his luck was going anything like Mac's, it wasn't that they weren't finding any evidence, it's that there was simply too much of it to carry. "Blond kid, about sixteen years old, skinny...maybe my height or a little shorter? Name's Garrett. He's with a tall, wiry guy...late thirties, early forties. Don't have much on him; never saw his face."

Mac couldn't help but notice how Jack very carefully wouldn't look at him as he spoke, his attention on his task seeming to grow with every word, despite him having been glancing at him every few seconds up until that point. Mac had fortunately been spared watching the videos of the kid in question, and although the audio had painted a pretty gruesome picture, he didn't have a lot to go on in terms of picturing Garrett. Fox had mentioned he was blond, but in that moment, Mac realized how strongly Jack was drawing the parallel.

The younger agent glanced at his partner sympathetically before turning back to the task at hand. Just as they heard about Bozer being secretly escorted out of the structure over coms, Jack pulled open the desk's right hand drawer.

"Jackpot," he grinned as Mac turned to face him, watching as he pulled a small plastic bin out of the drawer. Inside the bin were six external hard drives, each labeled with a year—one for every year of the ring's operation. Under the drives was a notebook, which Mac grabbed. "Looks like Foxy believes in backin' up his files to more than one place. What's the book?"

"Looks like a ledger," the blond agent mumbled. "It matches up the account numbers we've been seeing with actual names and information."

"Grab 'em and go," Matty ordered in their ears.

"On it," Mac promised as Jack grabbed an empty laptop bag from the floor at his feet and shoved the drives and ledger inside.

"Charlie team and SWAT arriving on scene," Cassidy Todd reported in as Jack handed the bag over to his partner. Mac took it from him and placed the strap across his chest.

"Stealth approach," Simmons instructed. "We got a lot of civilians in there; we don't want anyone to know we're here until it's too late."

"Copy," Todd agreed.

"Ready, Mac?" Jack questioned, studying him critically again as the blond leaned heavily on the desk for support. Mac forced himself to nod.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm good."

"Oh, my God," Riley gasped, sounding horrified.

"What?" Matty demanded.

"Ah, the-um, the boy, the one that I saw earlier," the analyst stammered, clearing her throat. "Someone bought him, and it looks like he's not going to bring him home, first. He and one of the guards are dragging the poor kid into one of the empty rooms—guys, we have to do something. I don't think this guy's planning on letting this kid live through the night."

"We'll get him," Mac assured her, glancing over at Jack, who nodded. He could tell that he and his partner were thinking the same thing, that the little boy in question might be Tomás. After all, Fox had said he was a 'disposable.' "Where is he?"

"Once you get out of the office, turn left, and then the second left," Riley instructed urgently. Jack went to the door first, gun at the ready, and pulled it open a crack to check for guards before stepping out, Mac on his heels. The pair turned left, moving as quickly and quietly as they could, even as Mac stumbled along, his muscles barely able to keep going.

"Mac, look out!" Matty's warning came to late; before either agent could turn and find the threat, Mac felt an arm wrap around his shoulders from behind and pin him back against a body. The blond agent started to struggle, but he froze when he felt a gun press against his temple. Jack whipped around, his gun raised, and Mac watched his eyes flash furiously.

"I gotta say, I am impressed that you're even on your feet, Jack," Fox's voice was smooth and even beside Mac's ear. "But you're fooling yourself if you think you can pull the trigger right now."

"Jada and Simmons, you're the closest, now," Riley spoke up in her colleagues' ears.

"Moving in," Simmons reported. "Ramirez take point."

"Copy," Ramirez confirmed.

"Let him go, Fox," Jack snarled. "It's over; give it up."

"Or what?" Fox chuckled, genuinely amused. "You wouldn't dare shoot right now. Not with Mac so close."

"I dunno..." Jack smirked just slightly, leveling his shot. "You trust me, Mac?"

Mac scoffed, then swallowed and nodded, "Always."

"Then that's all I need," the former Delta shrugged.

"He may trust you, but do you really trust yourself to make this shot?" Fox challenged.

Jack just laughed at that, and without further warning, pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the man's forehead, killing him instantly, and Mac exhaled sharply when the warm spray hit the side of his face. Jack was at his side in a heartbeat, grabbing his upper arm to steady him when he swayed.

"You okay?" he asked immediately, not hesitating to pull down one of his sleeves and wipe the blood off of his partner's face.

"I'm fine," Mac assured him, glancing down at Fox's body. "Let's go."

Jack nodded, then led the way around the corner and down the hall. They found the room where Riley had spotted the kid without difficulty; Simmons was standing in the doorway, keeping an eye out for them. Mac and Jack hustled towards him and into the room. Their suspicions were confirmed when they saw Tomás now finally sobbing outright into Jada's shoulder as she held him. The kid was trembling visibly, clinging to Jada's neck as tight as he could. A man—presumably the sick bastard who bought Tomás—was lying dead on the floor with a knife in his hand. Rosen was beside him, also dead.

"Tomás," Mac finally spoke up, finding his voice. At the mention of his name, the little boy looked up, and when he saw the two agents alive and free, he practically leapt from Jada's arms and ran to them. Mac knelt down to his level, and noticed a split second before Tomás threw his arms around him the blood on the boy's shirt.

"Hey," the blond agent said soothingly, rubbing the boy's back. "Está bien, Tomás...Todo está bien..."

"Sofía," Tomás choked out his friend's name through his tears. "¿Dónde está Sofía?"

"Está a salvo," Mac promised. "Está con nuestros amigos."

"Mac, we gotta go," Simmons spoke up. Mac nodded at him.

"Vamos, Tomás," the little boy wouldn't release his grip, so Mac carefully picked him up, his arms shaking with the effort. "Salgamos de aquí."

* * *

 **Alright, and that's the end of that. Up next, the exam.**

 **"But Alyssa," you say. "How can this be the end of the review? Murdoc hasn't even shown up yet."**

 **Are you sure about that? Are you really, truly sure? There's only 1 member of the team that could possibly be going next; everyone else was accounted for in the end. So let me ask you guys a question:**

 **Where's Bozer?**

 **Muahaha merry Christmas**


	6. Reschedule

Bozer was cradling Sofía in his arms, sticking close behind Ramirez as he was escorted out of the building and beyond the perimeter being held by tac. Once they were clear, Ramirez turned to him.

"I have to get back in position," he whispered quietly. "SWAT should be arriving on scene right about now; follow this road and you should find them."

"On it," Bozer nodded. Ramirez quickly made his way back towards his post as Bozer turned and started hurrying down the path. It didn't take long for him to find at least a dozen SWAT agents moving in his direction from their vehicles, which were clustered into a makeshift roadblock.

He had to get back in there; Mac wasn't looking so good, and if everyone was being honest, neither was Jack. His friends needed his help, so he had to get Sofía somewhere safe and go back. However, everyone he tried to speak to ignored him in favor of rushing into position.

"Can _anyone_ tell me where I can put this kid?" the new agent asked in a loud, exasperated whisper.

"Here," one agent, also speaking quietly, came over to him, slinging his gun across his back. "I'll take her."

"Thanks," Bozer sighed with relief, handing the trembling, traumatized little girl off to him. The agent moved towards the roadblock, and Bozer turned to walk back to the ranch, but after a step or two, he stopped. No. It couldn't be. In full SWAT gear, so brazenly mixed in with law enforcement? Not even he would be so bold.

But still...he hadn't caught it at first because of the whispering, but...it _sounded_ just like him...He had to know for sure. His stomach churning, Bozer turned around, and his breath froze in his throat when he saw Murdoc standing near the roadblock, dressed head-to-toe in SWAT gear, smirking at him.

Holding Sofía in his arms.

The sociopath grinned at him, the sight making his stomach churn, and Bozer gave a start when he reached up and smoothed Sofía's hair soothingly. Murdoc chuckled, then took his hand off the little girl's head and tapped on his ear, giving him an expectant look. Bozer hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked around. The real agents were milling about, getting their orders and splitting up to take their positions. They were so close...

But Murdoc had Sofía. And Bozer knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if he called for help.

He didn't have a choice.

Swallowing hard, Bozer reached up and removed his coms from his ear, turning it off and tossing it aside. Murdoc beckoned him closer, and the young agent complied after only a moment or two of hesitation, following him wordlessly as he started walking. Murdoc led him around the roadblock and away from SWAT, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript four-door sedan.

"It's good to see you again, Wilt," the sociopath greeted him cheerfully as he turned to face his next victim. "Do me a favor and hop in the front seat, would you?"

"They're gonna realize I'm gone pretty quick," Bozer warned him, trying to stall.

"Oh, I'm betting we have at least thirty minutes before they even think to look for you," the sociopath chuckled. Then his eyes hardened. "Now, give me your phone and get in the car."

Bozer ground his teeth together in clear frustration, but did as he was told, placing his phone in Murdoc's outstretched hand, opening the passenger door, and climbing inside. Putting his back to the killer was without a doubt the scariest thing he'd ever done, and he held his breath, waiting for his next move.

But nothing happened. He didn't feel a knife—or a syringe—or even a hand on his shoulder. Once he reluctantly settled into the seat, Murdoc—still holding the crying and trembling Sofía—came up beside him and took out a pair of handcuffs. He secured one cuff uncomfortably tightly around his new prisoner's wrist, and attached the other to the handle above the door.

The 'oh shit' handle, as Jack liked to call it. Wilt had never been more in agreement with Jack Dalton in his entire life. Even if he'd had a handcuff key in his pocket, there was no way he could get out of them without Murdoc seeing what he was doing.

And the assassin clearly knew that. Murdoc casually closed him in and stepped to the side to open the rear passenger door. Bozer only hesitated a moment, and then he leaned over and adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see what was happening.

Sofía was deposited into the seat without mishap; Murdoc handled her with all the care of a doting father as he coaxed her arms from around his neck. He even reached out and gently wiped her tears away, brushing her hair out of her face. Bozer's stomach started churning.

Taking him for...whatever it was he had planned was one thing, but taking that little girl—

The sociopath started talking to her quietly—in perfect Spanish, from what the agent could hear from his position—his voice gentle and soothing. At one point, he reached around her and picked something up off the floor of the back seat. In the mirror, Bozer saw that it was a small stuffed animal, along with a tablet and a pair of wireless, noise-cancelling headphones. The man handed the stuffed toy to the little girl, who was starting to calm down a bit, and then he turned on the tablet, shifting his position slightly so that she could see the screen as well. He asked her a question, and Sofía wordlessly pointed to something on the screen, clutching her new toy to her chest. Murdoc smiled at her and nodded. The smile seemed genuine at first, until the man glanced up and met Bozer's gaze through the mirror, a sickening gleam in his eyes. Bozer's jaw set, and he glared at his captor furiously, the (somewhat-empty) threat in his gaze plainly obvious.

There wasn't anything he could say or do to stop this, and he knew it. The assassin was practically begging him to give him a reason, and Bozer ground his teeth in silence.

They stared at one another in the glass for several endless moments, before Murdoc finally smirked and turned his attention back to the tablet. He tapped it a few times before handing it to the girl, who took it somewhat hesitantly. By this time, she'd stopped crying, although she was still shaking like a leaf. The sociopath then placed the headphones on Sofía's head and stood up, walking around to the trunk and opening it, rooting around a bit before closing it and walking back to Sofía's still-open door. To Bozer's slight relief, he was merely holding a blanket, which he placed around the girl's shoulders before buckling her into the seat, standing up straight, and closing the door. Bozer's heart was pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape as he watched Murdoc walk around the front of the car to the driver's seat, sliding in and starting the engine. He hardly glanced at the agent beside him, although he did, very deliberately, adjust the mirror so that it was showing him the back window again. Before too much longer, the three of them were on their way.

Wilt watched his side mirror, but there was no sudden blinking of brake lights, no headlights whipping around to pursue. No sign that anyone at the roadblock had noticed anything at all.

It would take tac a while to clear the building, arrest the buyers, corral the other victims...and Mac and Jack might not have realized that he'd intended to go back in. Riley would be tac's eyes and ears until they had control of the facility; she wouldn't necessarily notice that he was gone, either. Not until—

Not until he was well and truly gone.

Bozer closed his eyes and tried to breathe. In and out.

 _What would Mac do?_

Mac would never have gotten in the car in the first place, because he would have noticed that he was handing a child to a murderer before he did it, and Bozer kicked himself for missing it, for not saying anything into his coms when the thought crossed his mind.

That ship had sailed. What could he do _now?_

Make a trail. Leave breadcrumbs somehow.

But there was nothing. He might be able to break the car window with his handcuffs, but all that would net him was a pile of broken glass on the side of a road, and that could have come from any car, and wouldn't get noticed at least until daylight. And there was no telling what Murdoc would do to Sofía if he tried to damage or mark the car.

...Maybe he could...angle the handcuffs into oncoming headlight beams, hope someone saw the reflection, called the cops? A flashing tail light had gotten Mac out of El Noche's compound, after all.

Bozer opened his eyes again, slightly calmer now that he had at least _some_ kind of plan, and he tried to pick out any headlights headed their way.

There weren't any. The ranch was down a residential road, and it was pretty late at night. He'd have to wait until they made it to more well-travelled territory.

If Murdoc even took them that far.

Their driver didn't seem to be paying much attention to either of his passengers, his eyes glued to the road, but the steering wheel creaked occasionally as the sociopath wrung his gloved hands on the fake leather, his jaw clenching and unclenching every few seconds.

When Murdoc finally broke the thick silence, Bozer actually flinched.

"So I gotta ask, Wilt," the tension in the man's voice was obvious. "Who the _fuck_ thought this mission was a good idea?"

"...W-what?" Bozer turned his head to look at him fully.

"Sending Mac and Jack in there alone with no backup?" Murdoc shot him a disapproving glare. "Lead no doubt not properly vetted? Absolutely no safeguards? I am beyond appalled that Matilda allowed this!"

Bozer forced himself to relax slightly, a humorless chuckle bubbling nervously out of his chest. "...You sound like Riley."

"You should have listened to her," Murdoc growled. "Do you understand how close you just came to getting them both killed? Honestly, what the hell were you people thinking?!"

Bozer's brain stalled for a second. Murdoc _couldn't_ have actually been worried about them. But then it all clicked into place: Murdoc wasn't angry because the op had gone bad. He was angry because someone else might have pulled the trigger, might have killed Mac before he could. Before his sick games were finished.

Games that he, and now maybe that little girl, were a part of.

Headlights appeared in the distance, cresting a hill, and Bozer's heart leapt into his throat. "I dunno, man," his mouth suddenly blurted, without asking his brain first. "It was surreal; Matty left it up to Mac and Jack in the end, and they said go, so...we went for it," he finished lamely, with a little shrug.

The more Murdoc talked, the less likely he was to notice his prisoner's wrist twisting just so. As long as the assassin kept going straight and the approaching car didn't turn, he'd get his first shot at getting someone's attention.

"And that was the dumbest move they could have made," Murdoc ranted emphatically.

"Hey, I don't disagree with you," Bozer held up his free hand. "Riley and I were both trying to change their minds right up until the end. They were insistent." In hindsight, he honestly half-agreed with the assassin. "If any of the rest of us had proposed it, we would've been read the Riot Act, but..."

"Damn right," Murdoc let out his breath, frowning. "Still, he can be very...persuasive, when he wants to be. Even I'm not immune, and Matilda has..." He trailed off, eyes on the approaching vehicle, and Bozer quickly cleared his throat.

"Well, that's why he's team lead," was all he could think to say, because of course they were talking about Mac, and being one of Murdoc's favorite subjects...

The assassin glanced at him, and Wilt gave him an uncertain shrug—which he used to angle his right wrist towards the light coming in from the windshield. "Just...when he comes up with crazy stuff, it tends to work."

Murdoc threw a hand in the air. "Now that is exactly what I'm talking about! That blind faith in him you all seem to have...I'm not saying it's not without merit, but this is a perfect example of you just 'writing off,'" —and he said it with air quotes, even as the vehicle passed— "a glaringly obvious mistake!"

Wilt paused, trying to swallow some spit back into his desert-dry mouth. "I know he's not perfect. Trust me. He's done some pretty hare-brained things—"

The assassin snorted and cut his eyes to the rearview mirror, apparently watching the other vehicle out of habit. "Yes...you live with him; you should know that best of all." His eyes left the mirror to settle back on the road, and then Murdoc seemed to relax a little, now that he'd expressed his frustration. After a few seconds, he smiled and started laughing.

"What?" Bozer asked nervously, his stomach tightening.

"That was pretty good," the sociopath said, pointing at him, amusement lighting up his face. The change in his demeanor was so sudden that Bozer's heart leapt into his throat. Had he seen...?

"Getting me talking, agreeing with me, trying to get me on your side...very good. I'd give that effort a solid B+."

Without warning, Murdoc reached over and slammed Bozer's face into the dash. The young agent gave a short yelp of pain before cutting it off, hoping that Sofía hadn't heard him. His free hand flew up to his nose, tasting blood in the back of his throat, and sure enough, his hand came away bloody.

Murdoc let out a sigh, then opened the center console and plucked out a tissue, handing it wordlessly to his prisoner. Bozer hesitated only for a few seconds before taking it, quickly jamming it under his nostrils in an attempt to slow the bleeding. When Murdoc spoke, his voice was so casual it made Bozer's blood turn to ice in his veins.

"The next time you try to signal a passing vehicle, I'll kill everyone in it. Men, women," he glanced casually into the backseat, "...and children." His dark eyes cut back to Bozer's. "I'll leave him a literal trail of dead bodies to follow all the way back to yours."

Bozer swallowed again, as much to get rid of the blood as the rising lump in his throat. The tissue made his voice nasal. "What, no test this time? You're just gonna kill me outright?"

The sociopath's smile almost split his face. "Oh, Wilt, don't worry. I have something special in mind for you. Honestly, I think you're going to love what I've come up with. Especially with your background, I think you'll really be impressed."

Bozer couldn't express how much he didn't want to be impressed, so he just stayed quiet. Behind him, he heard Sofía give the smallest giggle at something on the tablet, and his stomach lurched at how out-of-place the sound was.

At least she hadn't noticed anything.

"Settle in, Wilt," Murdoc advised. "You're in for quite the night."

* * *

Mac was lying on the gurney in the back of one of the several ambulances that had gathered at the ranch, exhaustion settling into his very bones as the adrenaline he'd been surviving on was finally purged from his system. The paramedics fussed over him, checking and rechecking his vitals and trying to assess the damage dealt to him by his captors. The blond agent was too exhausted to protest, instead allowing himself to be poked and prodded. Jack was pacing the ground in front of him, still wired, waiting for the cocaine to wear off before he let anyone examine him. Beside the younger agent, Tomás was being attended to. The poor boy had bruises surfacing on his arms, legs, and ribs, as well as on his cheekbone and lip. He had several deep cuts in his skin as well, which were the source of the blood Mac had spotted earlier. He couldn't stop trembling, flinching away from even the slightest touch. Every once in a while, Mac had to reassure him that he was safe. It was the only thing that would settle him for a few more minutes.

But who could blame the kid for being jumpy? Not two hours ago, he'd been auctioned off like an animal and sold to a man who simply wanted to make him scream.

Tac and SWAT had already shut the place down, arresting everyone in the auction room. Several guards were dead, but many had been taken alive. Two victims had also been killed by their captors in the chaos, but over two hundred had been rescued, ranging in age from four all the way to thirty-five. Many of the middle age bracket—between fourteen and twenty-four—were American, with identities that were easily verified, and would be able to go home in a day or two. Most, though, were a lot harder to identify. Matty was working on getting some translators in to make things a bit easier.

"Hey, Simmons!" Jack called out, and Mac opened his eyes, only just then realizing that they'd fallen closed. He watched his partner walk over to where the team leader was helping herd those arrested towards a transport van—the group would be processed, and the victims among them separated, at a different location. He pointed to one of the people in the crowd, and Simmons singled him out, pulling him out of line to stand in front of Jack. It was a scrawny blond kid, just a bit shorter than Jack. The boy's eyes were so wide as Jack studied him that Mac could see it from the ambulance, a good ten or fifteen feet away, in the dark. For a moment, Jack said nothing, and then he nodded silently.

"That's him," the former Delta confirmed, and Mac had to strain to hear him. "That's the kid. That's Garrett."

Simmons didn't need anything else; he just nodded, pulling the boy away from the group and towards one of the squad cars, where he would wait until his fate could be discussed. Garrett fought against him viciously, screaming as he practically begged not to be separated from his abuser. Jack watched him go with a sad expression, shaking his head as he walked back over to Mac's ambulance.

"Kid's gonna need a hospital," the blond agent murmured, just barely loud enough for Jack to hear. His partner nodded.

"He'll get one," the former operator assured him. "But he'll be fine for a few hours; we've got time."

Mac didn't say anything, simply not having the strength.

"Jack!" It was Riley's voice, and Mac opened his weary eyes again in time to see Riley practically crash into his partner, hugging him tightly. Jack grunted painfully and stumbled back, but soon regained his footing and wrapped his arms around her, letting out his breath as he kissed the top of her head.

"It's okay, Riles," Jack soothed. "I'm okay; it's okay."

"Don't ever do that again," Riley ordered, her voice muffled by his shirt. "Please, just never do that again."

Jack couldn't bring himself to promise that, so he just held her tighter. Mac watched them for a couple seconds before he frowned. "Guys."

The pair separated, looking at him in confusion. Mac swallowed and took a breath, trying to fight off the complete and total crash that would soon drag him into unconsciousness.

"Where's Bozer?"

Jack and Riley looked at each other, then looked around, trying to locate him.

"Hey Boze, where are you?" Riley asked into her coms. She received no answer.

"Hey, Ramirez!" Jack called the tac agent over. Ramirez jogged towards them, looking at them expectantly. "Where's Boze?"

Ramirez's expression became that of confusion, and he looked around the area much like Jack and Riley had before he frowned and turned back to them.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I got him and the girl out of the building and pointed him towards SWAT, but then I had to get back in position. He not answering coms?"

"No, but let's not panic," Jack frowned, glancing specifically at Mac when he said the words—and he was right; Mac _was_ starting to panic as much as his exhausted body would let him—before Riley handed him his new phone, already loaded up with his contacts. They'd started taking spares on missions with them, since Mac so often destroyed theirs. He thanked her briefly before addressing his partner again. "I'm sure he's just fine."

The former Delta selected Bozer's name from his contacts and brought his phone up to his ear as it started to ring.

* * *

The blood had stopped flowing from Bozer's nose twenty minutes and six tissues ago, leaving him sitting in the passenger seat, his head aching and nose throbbing as he practically cowered in his seat, knowing that he was out of moves. When his phone started vibrating in the cup holder, the young agent couldn't help but jump. Murdoc chuckled slightly, fishing the phone out of the cup holder and looking at the screen.

"Finally," the sociopath huffed, pulling over onto the side of the deserted road. He put the car in park and turned to his adult captive. "I'm going to answer this call, and you're going to talk to your people and get an update on Mac. If you try anything stupid..." he freed his gun from his holster and held it casually across his body so that it was pointed at Sofía. He didn't have to say anything else; Bozer swallowed hard and nodded in understanding. Murdoc smirked, then answered the call and put it on speaker.

"Hello?" Bozer did his best to make his voice even and casual, and for the most part, he succeeded.

"Boze, it's Jack," his colleague's tone conveyed both relief and concern. "Where the hell are you, man? You're not answering coms."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Bozer apologized, shifting in his seat. "I turned it off so I wouldn't react to anything. I took Sofía for a drive; figured it might calm her down."

Murdoc gave him a surprised, approving look.

"Okay, well, a little warning next time would be nice," Jack grumbled. "How is she?"

"She's okay," Bozer told him, deciding to keep his attention on the phone so that he didn't even look at Murdoc. "She's stopped crying, at least. I think she's just kind of in shock."

"Yeah, I would be, too," Jack scoffed.

"I think I'll drive her around for a little bit longer, then head to the hospital," Bozer continued. Then, at Murdoc's nonverbal prompting, he cleared his throat. "How're you and Mac?"

"Right now, I'm still great," Jack chuckled. "Although I feel like I'm gonna crash any minute. Can't sit still long enough for anyone to look me over until then, though. Mac, on the other hand...y'know, Mac might be asleep..."

"Not asleep, Jack," Mac's voice was distorted and unclear over the phone, but it wasn't hard to hear how tired he was.

"Oh, lookit that; he's still awake," Jack marveled. "But, anyway, he's completely exhausted, looks like he's getting ready to sleep for at least twenty-four hours. EMTs say he has a couple cracked ribs, bunch of bruises, but he should be fine. They're gonna take him to the hospital, get a few x-rays taken. I'll probably end up doing the same. We're all gonna be just fine."

 _Speak for yourself, Dalton_ , Bozer thought, swallowing hard as he cast his eyes towards the gun in Murdoc's hand, still aimed so casually at Sofía. "Good to hear. Text me which hospital and I'll head there instead."

"Will do," Jack promised, suspecting nothing, it seemed, and Bozer's heart sank. "Drive safe; we'll see you soon."

"Okay," Bozer agreed. He took a breath. "Bye, Jack."

"Bye."

Jack hung up first, and Bozer couldn't help but flinch as the line disconnected. Murdoc locked the phone and replaced it in the cupholder, putting his gun away before pulling back onto the road and continuing their drive.

"Relax, Wilt," the sociopath advised. "It won't be _quite_ the last time you talk to them. Just the...second-til-last."

Bozer didn't answer, shaking his head and looking out the window to try and distract himself. After another fifteen minutes or so, Murdoc pulled into an old, run-down, abandoned gas station. Their car wasn't the only one in the lot; there was another sedan a few cracked spots away.

Murdoc slid the car in behind and to the left of the other vehicle, putting it in park and killing the engine. He pulled out his gun again, along with the handcuff key, and Bozer looked at him in uneasy confusion.

"Unlock the cuff attached to the handle, get in the passenger seat of the other car, and cuff yourself to the handle again," his captor ordered, his gun resuming its position so that it was aimed at Sofía. Bozer hesitated, staring at the gun for a moment before swallowing hard and flicking his gaze up towards Murdoc. The assassin raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Bozer reluctantly took the key from him, unlocked the cuff not attached to his wrist, gave the key back when prompted, and opened his door, stepping out into the pleasant desert night. He risked a look into the back seat at Sofía, and saw her sitting in the seat, fully content, watching Spongebob on the tablet, her headphones keeping her oblivious to what was happening. She even glanced up and smiled at him, and Bozer forced himself to smile back before she returned her full attention to the screen.

Bozer swallowed and, knowing he couldn't waste much more time before Murdoc got impatient, made his way over to the other car, feeling his captor's eyes boring into him with every step.

The Phoenix agent opened the car's passenger door and climbed in, only pausing for a moment before attaching himself to the oh shit handle once more, looking back at the car he'd just vacated, not quite able to see much beyond the front bumper from his position. He was really screwed, now; even if that person he'd signaled called the cops, any vehicle description they gave would be useless. He felt panic well up in him, and he forced himself to take a breath. Mac would get him out of there. One way or another, his best friend was going to win; he had no reason to doubt that. He just had to wait.

He heard Murdoc get out of the car and turned his head, his heart pounding so loud he was afraid it would be heard. The sociopath opened the driver's side door and climbed in, opening the center console and digging through it.

"What are you doing?" the agent found himself asking, and Murdoc looked up at him.

"Keeping you conscious up until now had a purpose, Wilt," he told his captive after a long pause. "You just fulfilled that purpose when you talked to Jack. And it's no fun if you see the surprise before you can experience it, is it?"

He drew out a syringe, and Bozer's heart leapt into his throat; if he fell asleep, his chances of escape all but disappeared. He couldn't let that happen. When Murdoc uncapped the syringe and leaned towards him, he fought, shoving the man back with his free arm, pulling against his handcuffs wildly. Murdoc growled in frustration, knocking Bozer's arm back behind his captive's seat and pinning it in that awkward position. Bozer grunted in pain, still thrashing as much as he could in the tight space—so much, in fact, that Murdoc tired of trying to get a clear shot at his neck and instead stabbed the syringe into his thigh, injecting him before he could struggle further. The agent grimaced, his face falling as he finally ceased his struggle. Murdoc released him with a sigh.

"Now, why did you have to go and do a thing like that, Wilt?" the hitman asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Bozer could already feel the effects of the sedative he'd been given starting to worm their way into his mind, and he fought them desperately. "Now I'm gonna have to do something you really don't want me to do."

With this, he pulled a knife from a holster on his calf and opened his door again, putting one foot out before Bozer realized what he was going to do.

"Wait," the agent's voice was breathy and panicked, and he pulled against his restraints. "Wait, please...please don't do this. Please, I-I'm sorry, just don't do this!"

"I'm not doing anything, Wilt," Murdoc shook his head, his voice scolding as though he were talking to a misbehaving child. "This is all your doing. You have no one to blame but yourself."

He shifted his weight to get out of the car, and Bozer lunged for him, grabbing hold of his stolen SWAT uniform sleeve and pulling hard. Murdoc, not expecting such an act from him, tumbled unsteadily back into his seat, smacking his head on the doorframe in the process, and Bozer held on tight, doing his best to keep the man off balance. After a brief struggle, Murdoc freed himself and punched his captive in the temple. Bozer cried out, his free hand flying up to cover the injury. His mind was starting to feel slow and heavy, and he knew that, soon, he wouldn't be able to fight anymore. Not that it mattered; Murdoc had already won this round.

"Y'know, I _was_ gonna make it quick," the sociopath growled furiously, glaring at the man in the passenger seat. "Painless. A mercy killing, really. Why did you have to make this so difficult?"

"Please," the young agent begged, starting to succumb to the sedative. "Please, just don't kill her..."

"You're hardly in a position to ask favors, Wilt," Murdoc gave him a look. He stepped out of the car and stooped to look back in at him. "You just sit still for a few minutes, and maybe I won't hold this little incident against you."

With this, he straightened and slammed the door shut, walking towards the car where Sofía was still sitting. Bozer pulled on the handcuffs with both hands, his panic only doing so much to offset the drugs.

"Please!" the agent shouted, unsure if he could be heard. "Murdoc, please don't do this! Please don't kill her! Please!"

His begging fell on deaf ears. He couldn't see much from his angle, but he saw light fall across the hood of the car as the interior lights turned on, and his throat tightened. He had stopped struggling; he was just too tired. He closed his eyes, now welcoming the warm blackness that was trying to claim him, not wanting to be conscious when the little girl started screaming. He got his wish; in mere moments, he was sucked into unconsciousness.

* * *

Jack was finally starting to come down from his unplanned high and was sitting down in the back of the ambulance, settling in for his ride to join Mac at the hospital, EMTs fussing over him. Mac and Tomás had left at least ten minutes ago, but Jack, still wired at the time, couldn't sit still long enough to join them. Movement in the darkness drew the former Delta's eye, and he turned his coms back on, having turned it off when his examination began.

"—k to my position between the barns," Simmons was saying, and in the barn's outdoor lights, Jack could see Riley standing beside him. Which was strange, because...hadn't he convinced her to leave not ten minutes ago and meet him at the hospital?

"I repeat," Simmons sighed. He sounded grim. "All SWAT personnel to my position between the barns."

Jack frowned, watching as the SWAT members who were still on the scene made their way towards them, and sat up on his gurney. The EMTs tried to stop him, but he pushed them off, promising that he'd be back in a minute before he carefully got up and climbed down from the back of the ambulance. As he approached the group, Simmons' voice became clear.

"—guy holding a little girl came to one of your roadblocks earlier tonight before we breached," he was saying. "Where did he go?"

Murmurs of confusion resounded from the crowd, and Jack pushed his way to the front. "Simmons, what—?"  
"Jack, go back to the ambulance," Simmons ordered, his voice firm. Jack raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, what?" he said after a moment.

"You should be at the hospital," Simmons continued. "You need to get checked out; go on."

Jack blinked at him, then turned to Riley, who was shifting her feet nervously. "Riles, what's going on?"

Riley hesitated, glancing at Simmons before she swallowed and spoke. "We can't find Bozer."

Simmons threw his hands up and rolled his eyes as he turned away for a moment. "Am I the only one who actually follows orders around here?" he demanded. "Matty said not to tell him."

"When has that ever worked out for ya, Simmons?" Jack smirked and winked at him before turning to Riley. "We talked to him not half an hour ago, Riles; whaddya mean?"

"Well, we were driving to the hospital," the analyst explained, "and we passed by the car Boze and I came in. Exactly where we left it."

"I'm not following," Jack admitted with a frown.

"Boze said he took Sofía for a drive," Riley reminded him. "If that's true, then in what car?"

Jack frowned. It was a good point. "What exactly do you think happened to him?"

"I don't know," Riley shrugged, concern on her face. "But why would he lie?"

Jack glanced around at the SWAT team, then grabbed Riley's arm and pulled her off to the side, allowing Simmons to talk to the agents in peace. "Did you track his phone?"

"My laptop is dead," Riley shook her head. "I didn't bring my backup from the cabin; I was in a rush."

"Well, Riles, you got a power cord?" Jack looked at her incredulously. "Because the ranch _does_ have power, in case you forgot."

Riley blinked her tired eyes at him, then nodded and went in search of an outlet, Jack shaking his head as he followed her, one arm around his ribs, which were starting to get noticeably painful again. He tried to remember that Riley—and most everyone who'd come to their rescue—had been awake for almost forty hours by this point; none of them were firing on all cylinders.

By the time Jack made it into the barn where Riley had disappeared, she had already plugged in her laptop and was hard at work. It took just a few minutes for her to nail down a location, and when she did, she quickly got back on coms.

"I tracked Boze's phone," she reported. "He's stopped at an old gas station about twenty miles from here. Sending the location to tac now."

"SWAT and tac continue helping with prisoner transport," Matty ordered. "Simmons, Ramirez, Cook, and Keeler, go check it out."

"Yes, ma'am," the four mentioned agents said almost in unison, heading off towards the location in question. They arrived about twenty minutes later—during which time Jack's paramedics had tracked him down and insisted he take a seat, if he wouldn't go to the hospital. Jack obliged begrudgingly, watching Riley's screen showing the bodycam footage from each of the four operatives as they exited their vehicle, which was parked behind the only car in the abandoned lot. They took up positions on either side of the car. None of them could see inside; it was pitch black.

"On my mark," Simmons whispered. He held up three fingers and counted down to one. On one, the four of them yanked open all four doors of the sedan and crouched to look inside, guns at the ready. The only person inside was the little girl, Sofía, who had been asleep on the back seat. She jolted awake when the car lit up, and when she looked around and saw all four operatives surrounding her, pointing guns in her direction, she immediately started crying, pulling her blanket up over herself like a shield. After being certain that she was the only one inside, Ramirez immediately slung his weapon across his back, crouched down in front of Sofía, and started talking to her in rapid, soothing Spanish. At the sound of the familiar language, Sofía slowly stopped crying to listen to him. Ramirez held his hand out to her, but the little girl cowered away.

As Ramirez continued to try and coax her out of the car, the other three operatives searched the rest of the vehicle, popping the (empty) trunk in the process.

"Car's clear," Simmons reported. "The girl looks okay. No sign of Bozer, though."

"Is that blood?" Jack spoke up, his rush quickly drying up with each passing second, lifting a slightly-shaky hand to point at the quadrant of Riley's screen that showed Cook's bodycam feed. The floor of the passenger seat was covered in red-stained tissues.

"Could be," Cook acknowledged as Keeler reached over and plucked something from the cup holder.

"Found Bozer's phone," he told them grimly, turning the device over in his hands.

In the back seat, Ramirez finally convinced Sofía to come out, and when the little girl dropped the blanket and crawled across the seat to him, Riley's breath hitched in her throat, one hand flying to her mouth and the other shooting out to grip Jack's arm. He looked over at her, seeing her expression of equal parts terror and horror, the color drained from her face, and turned back to the screen, trying to figure out what had spooked her. That's when he noticed the little white rabbit clutched in Sofía's arms.

It was the same white rabbit from the photo Murdoc had taken on Riley's phone.

"Matty," Jack's tone was grave.

"I see it, Jack," Matty acknowledged.

"Oh my God, he has Bozer," Riley breathed, her voice shaking.

"What the hell does he expect any of us to do right now?" Jack questioned out loud, sounding frustrated and angry, hiding his fear. "None of us are in any state for his stupid games—least of all Mac."

"Murdoc won't start the game until he can get to Mac," Matty stated firmly, with such confidence that they all almost forgot that they didn't know that for sure. "So we lock down Mac. This bastard has put too much time and effort into this game to give up on it; the longer we can keep him from starting the game, the longer we have to find Bozer."

"If Mac realizes what's going on, he's not gonna make it easy," Jack warned.

"So we don't tell him," Matty said, as though it were obvious.

"And when he asks where Bozer is?" Simmons raised an eyebrow.

"He's helping process the victims," again, their boss's voice was so sure and confident, despite the dire situation.

"That's not gonna hold up forever," Riley scoffed.

"Then make it last as long as you can," Matty ordered harshly, still obviously upset and tired under her commanding tone. "I'm going to have every available resource looking for Bozer; Riley, get some rest and then help them out. Ramirez, see if you can get any answers from the girl. Jack, get your ass to the hospital and don't argue with me; I'm not in the mood."

Everyone somewhat begrudgingly agreed to their orders, and before long, everyone was headed to the hospital—Jack and Sofía for treatment, Riley to stay with Jack, and tac to secure the area. All the while, all they could do was hope and pray that Bozer could hold on long enough for them to track him down.

* * *

Bozer woke up very slowly, and before he'd even remembered what happened, he was already trying to resist consciousness. He was so tired—so physically, mentally, and emotionally tired—that he just wanted to sleep forever. Recalling what happened before he passed out—Murdoc closing in on that innocent little girl who'd trusted him to protect her—did nothing to help with that, and he kept his eyes closed, willing himself back to sleep. He didn't want to know where he was. He didn't want to know what was happening. He didn't want to know what Murdoc had planned for him. He just wanted to sleep.

"You might as well open your eyes, Bozer," Murdoc's voice chilled the prisoner to the bone. "I know you're awake."

Bozer did no such thing, stubbornly keeping his eyes shut and willing himself— _begging_ himself—to go back to sleep. He heard Murdoc stand up and walk towards him, and his heart started hammering in his chest, although he still refused to open his eyes. Now more awake, thanks to the adrenaline, Bozer realized that he was lying on his side, his hands behind his back, on some kind of cot or something; the surface below him was stiff and uncomfortable, but didn't feel as rigid as the floor.

"Seriously, Wilt," Murdoc chuckled after a moment, as though amused—though there was a slight edge of irritation under his words. "There's no point in this charade. Open your eyes."

That threat beneath his words made Bozer slowly, carefully pry his heavy eyelids apart, only to immediately shut them again with a groan when he was met with a bright light. His brow furrowing, he tried again, opening his eyes just slightly until they started to adjust, eventually blinking and shifting his gaze up towards his captor. Murdoc smiled down at him, grinning almost hungrily at the young agent. Bozer didn't say anything, instead pulling his eyes away and looking around at his surroundings almost robotically. He was indeed lying on a cot, and across the room from him was a small table and chair that Murdoc had been sitting at. The door must have been somewhere behind him, because he couldn't see it. Not that it mattered; he couldn't get out of there if he tried. Murdoc had thought of everything. There was no way he could get past him.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" the restrained man asked finally, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Can't you just get on with it?"

Murdoc chuckled in amusement. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, Wilt, but we have to wait for the guest of honor before we can get to the main event."

"You might be waiting a while," Bozer scoffed, dropping his eyes to the thin mattress beneath him. "Mac wasn't exactly in great shape last I saw him. He probably won't be back to normal for at least a day. You really just gonna keep me here until then?"

"Oh, don't sound so defeated, Wilt," Murdoc scoffed. "I'm going to give you every opportunity to survive this test. If Mac does what he's supposed to do, you probably won't sustain any lasting damage."

"Wow. 'Probably.' How comforting," Bozer fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"It's more of a guarantee than Matilda got," the older man pointed out, the underlying threat returning to his voice. Boze stayed quiet, shifting slightly on the cot and closing his eyes again. Sleep was no closer than it had been earlier, especially with Murdoc still standing over him, silent.

"Was there something you wanted, or are you just going to stare at me until Mac is well enough to think straight?" the prisoner asked, his tone a bit more cautious than irritable.

"Actually, there is something I wanted," Murdoc sounded far too cheerful, and Bozer opened his eyes again to look at him. "See, I've had this test set up for weeks, now; I just haven't had the opportunity to use it, between my recovery and trying to get you alone. Now, Mac's current state is causing yet _another_ delay, and I have nothing to do. I'm _bored_ , Wilt. So irritatingly, frustratingly bored."

"What, and I'm supposed to provide your entertainment?" Bozer really didn't like the sound of that.

"I suppose you don't have to if you don't want to," Murdoc sighed, "but then I'll still be bored, and oh, how I just hate being bored."

It certainly did sound like it would be bad for Bozer's health if he just let his captor be bored, so the younger man sighed. "What did you have in mind?"

Murdoc grinned widely at him, almost reminding Bozer of a child.

 _A child that will soon torture me as part of some sort of fucked-up game with my best friend,_ he scoffed internally.

"The previous occupants of this location left a few treats behind," the sociopath explained, and surprised his prisoner by pulling out a set of keys, sitting him upright on the cot, and releasing him from his handcuffs. He gestured to the space behind Bozer, and the younger man slowly turned to look. His cot was in the middle of a medium sized, grayish room. The floor had been swept, but the paint was peeling from the walls in a couple spots. The overhead lights did their best to brighten the space, but it was a losing battle. What really drew his attention, though, was the huge, old, thick TV along the wall to his left, propped up on a makeshift stand of four small, stacked wooden pallets. In front of the screen was a pair of old bean bag chairs, and hooked up to the device was a console that Bozer recognized as a Nintendo 64. As for the door that was directly behind him...he could feel Murdoc's eyes on his face, so he tried not to look at it.

"You want to play video games?" he asked instead, sounding a little wary.

Murdoc chuckled. "Well, if you're not up for it, I'm sure I could come up with something else to entertain myself."

"Say no more; what games are there?" Bozer surprised himself with his somewhat lighthearted tone, and felt a chill run through him when Murdoc grinned.

"That's the spirit, Wilt."

The assassin clapped him on the back, hard enough to communicate that he needed to start moving, and Wilt obeyed, approaching the beanbags. They were a little worn in some places, but didn't seem overly filthy. Just like the room.

With no windows and no natural light, Bozer had no idea what time it was. How long he'd been out. Where Murdoc had taken him.

And a very large part of him hoped he never found out. There was no way his absence hadn't been noticed by now. The excuse he gave on the phone to Jack had worked in the moment, but it wouldn't hold up. Multiple tac teams had been on site. They were looking for him. Maybe Mac and Jack were down and out right now, but Matty and Riley sure as hell weren't. All he needed to do was buy them enough time to retrace Murdoc's steps, and get here—wherever 'here' was—before whatever was going to happen happened.

So, Bozer crouched painfully in front of the pallet stack, which doubled as shelving, and studied the cartridges. He had to turn his head sideways to do it, and his neck ached sharply.  
"Well, we've got...Zelda: Ocarina of Time. That's a classic."

"I assume all of these games are...multi-player?" Bozer couldn't help but flinch when Murdoc just appeared, right beside him, and fished one of the controllers off the pallet. Wilt started shaking his head before he could stop himself.

"I forgot about the cords," he said, gesturing to the controller. "This is super old school; are you even sure it works?"

Murdoc blinked at him. "Why, Wilt, I think you just called me super old school." Then a too-bright grin spread across his face. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Sorry. I meant old," Bozer corrected himself flatly. "It's old. This system was old when _I_ started playing video games."

The killer gusted out a sigh, then tapped the front of the television, and Bozer realized then that he was still wearing gloves. Which meant he was still working. Maybe he did intend to kill time, but he was ready and willing to kill other things at a moment's notice.

"Wilt. Just because something was created while you were still in diapers, does not mean it's lost its usefulness."

Sure enough, the old TV came to life with the low-pitched buzz of CRTs the world over. Similarly, when Murdoc eventually found the power button for the system, the Nintendo 64 splash screen came up. It then loaded GoldenEye 007.

Great. Deathmatch. Just what he wanted to do: virtually run around a warehouse waiting to get sniped in the back before they got up and did the real thing. "Well, this one is multi-player."

When Murdoc didn't immediately respond, Bozer chanced a glance at him to find the assassin's face twisted in disgust.

"James Bond? Really?"

"What, you don't want to be a suave British agent, getting the girl and saving the day?" Bozer snorted. "Color me surprised."

Murdoc didn't even take him to task; he simply powered off the system. "I'll admit that the movies have at least _some_ entertainment value, but most of the plots are unlikely at best and the villains, the weapons, the contrived action sequences..." The disgusted look didn't leave his face as he discarded the cartridge like one might a dead rodent. "I thought you _liked_ film."

Bozer felt his eyebrows rising. "...I can't tell you how creepy it is that you know that, but yeah, I do like film, and I enjoy a little double-oh-seven. No one watches it for the plot." With GoldenEye off the table, he started perusing the rest of the cartridges, pulling them out to see the titles. "It's like a big, greasy burger versus a steak. Sometimes you want junk food, sometimes you want substance."

Beside him, the assassin chuckled. "I'm glad you feel that way, Wilt."

He suppressed an eye roll. Whatever that meant. "We've got...Pokémon Snap, no idea what the hell that is...uh, 1080 Snowboarding; that's probably some kinda multiplayer racing game..."

The older man made a face. "Just...snowboarding down a mountain?" At Bozer's hesitant nod, Murdoc made a noise to the negative. "Boring."

"Well, it's not SSX," Bozer agreed. "You know these are all gonna suck in comparison to modern games, right?"

The assassin dipped his head back to GoldenEye. "I don't know if you've looked into video games recently, but they are filled with graphic violence and carnage. Some of it quite realistic, actually. The designers really did their homework on blood spatter." He trailed off thoughtfully. "At some point in the near future, I'm going to have to make decisions about what I'm going to let Cassian play. Right now he's into...something that looks really pixelated..."

For the second time in as many minutes, Murdoc's tone caught Bozer off guard. It was...normal. Like any parent worried about the choices their child was going to make. "Uh...you mean Minecraft?"

The assassin snapped his gloved fingers. "Yes. I understand the really popular one with the kids is...Fortnite?"

Bozer went back to examining cartridges. "Fortnite is popular with everyone. And...so is this." He fished a copy of Mario Kart 64 out of the stacks. "It's a racing game, but before you make faces, we can throw banana peels and turtle shells at each other."

Murdoc didn't pooh-pooh it like Bozer thought he might; instead, the man made a show of lighting up and taking the cartridge from him. "My friends at the boarding school used to play this! Well, not friends...the other boys, you know." He shook his head at his own foolishness. "I think Avery even got into a fight over placing in a tournament. Broke his roommate's nose." He chuckled softly. "Eh. Boys will be boys."

The cartridge—now Murdoc approved—went into the system, and Bozer hesitantly lowered himself into the closest bean bag. The assassin turned and handed him a controller, which he accepted, and he tried not to flinch when Murdoc plopped himself down happily beside him, and air escaping the bean bag puffed up his shirt sleeve. The older man chuckled again, seeing his captive staring in his direction.

"Oh, relax, Wilt. It's just a game." He winked conspiratorially. "I won't even get mad if you win."

Bozer was no longer sure which game he was talking about, so he didn't say anything. He simply chose his character and waited for the assassin to do the same.

Murdoc studied his controller blankly. "So...why is there a joystick if there are arrow keys?"

Without waiting for an answer, he started pressing buttons, and Bozer relaxed ever so slightly into the bean bag while Murdoc figured it out. His head was still pounding, and his thigh was still tight from the injection, and Wilt carefully steered his mind clear of anything to do with the ranch, with the car, with the scared little girl who had been in the backseat—

"So what do the triggers do?"

Wilt swallowed his throat into working order. "You know what? Let's just play a practice round. How about you be Bowser." Murdoc stared at the television blankly, and Wilt bit back a sigh. "The big guy with the spiky shell."

Twenty minutes and four tracks later, Bozer shifted a little in the beanbag and was shocked to find that he'd actually relaxed somewhat. Murdoc hadn't...done anything. Hadn't hurt him, hadn't yelled, hadn't threatened him...he took instructions well, he'd figured out the button systems and special moves, and they had just kicked off a four-track competition.

"I take it you don't want to play cooperatively?" he asked as they scrolled quickly through the options.

Murdoc gave him what he probably thought was a friendly smirk. "You haven't exactly been _cooperative_ tonight, Wilt." Then he made a show of considering those words. "Though you are certainly improving in that regard...I think that nap helped you. I can only hope it will do the trick for Angus, too."

The reminder of what his lack of cooperation had cost almost distracted him from the subtle request for information. Information that he was happy to share. "Mac hasn't slept in days, Murdoc. They tortured him for twenty-four hours straight. I don't know how long you're plannin' on playin' video games, but if this is all part of your next sick test, it's gonna be a minute."

"Mmm." Murdoc didn't sound particularly disturbed, and the race kicked off. Bozer had chosen Wario as his character, and he put himself as far from Murdoc on the track as he could.

"Does that happen often? Missions going...not as planned?"

"You're out, aren't you?" Wilt retorted. "Probably the same number of your messed up missions going south." After he said it, it occurred to him, quite suddenly, that this was just as much an opportunity for him to get information from Murdoc as it was for the assassin to get information from him.

"Oh ho ho, I could tell you about some doozies," Murdoc admitted, then leaned to the right as they went around a sharp curve in the game. Like a lot of amateur players, he seemed to think physically moving helped in overall game play, and Bozer picked up a star and wondered exactly how distracted Murdoc really was.

He got his answer immediately, in the form of a soft laugh. "But I've never walked flat-footed into that obvious of a trap. You can't tell me you didn't see it coming a mile away. What the hell was that?" he added suddenly, as one of the non-player characters nailed him with a black shell.

"What, the spikey shell?" Bozer replied innocently, having to pay attention now as he raced by Murdoc's disabled character. "They can cross over the landscaping, and target the current leader. You...didn't see it coming?"

In reply, Murdoc just glanced over at him. "Really, Wilt? Really?"

Bozer didn't shift his position at all. "We take the missions where we can do the most good, even if they're risky. Considering you're a parent, I'd have thought that even _you_ would at least understand wanting to save kids, but after tonight—" He broke off, then licked his lips. "What happens when Cassian pisses you off? You gonna kill him like you killed Sofía?"

In response, Murdoc threw back his head and laughed. "A shot across the bow? I'm proud of you, Wilt! See, this is why I like you." He had picked up three red shells, and Bozer watched Murdoc's half of the screen, waiting for him to use them and maybe a little irrationally determined not to let any of them hit him.

"Really? This is how you treat your bros? Kidnap 'em and force 'em to play old video games?"

The first of the red shells launched, but Bozer was able to put Princess Peach between him and it, and it picked her off instead. "You know..." It was oddly thoughtful. "I don't really have that many 'bros.' In my line of work, you don't really come across too many people who want to make friends."

"Shocker," Boze replied, as he tried and failed to pick up another star.

"I guess that's why I really...appreciate Angus. I'll be honest, before I met your roomie, things in my life were getting pretty humdrum." The second turtle shell was released, but luckily Toad took that exact moment to try to move around him, and spun off the track.

"Yeah, I can see where contract killing could get totally monotonous. Oh hey, another week, another murder."

"Truer words never spoken." The killer's tone was almost reverent. "There are many, many ways to kill people, but of course you usually default to the most convenient, unless a certain request has been made. You know, drown her instead of shooting her. Make it look like an accident. I never did like taking direction," Murdoc added thoughtfully, leaning hard into a left turn. "Do I tell them how to do _their_ jobs? Honestly."

"I dunno, do you?" His own reply startled him a little bit. Like they were actually having a conversation about this.

"Well, I should," Murdoc grumbled. "You would truly be amazed at how terrible some people are at being terrible people."

"Well, we can't all be you." Wario sailed over the finish line, and Bozer turned his attention to Murdoc's half of the screen, where he was targeting the current second place finisher with his remaining red shell.

"Finally!" Murdoc's aim was true, and Bowser slipped smoothly into second place. "And thank you, by the way. I was about to call you out for letting me win."

"Don't get used to it," Bozer snarked before he could stop himself. Mac sure as hell wasn't going to.

None of them were.

The screen changed, showing the stats as the next track started to load, and Murdoc stretched comfortably beside him, looking genuinely amused. "Why not? You have a habit of throwing a match here and there to pursue your true objective. Like Riley and that infernal game with the racquets and the rubber ducks. I still haven't figured out the rules—if there even _are_ rules besides 'let the pretty people win'."

The words had Bozer's stomach dropping through the floor. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd played that game with Riley, hitting rubber ducks into the water feature of Mac's pool. Months ago. Months before the volunteer event that had put everything in motion.

He'd been watching them for months before. In broad daylight.

"Y'know," and Wilt slowly shook his head. "Every time I think you can't get any more messed up, you go and prove me wrong. Why are you doing this? Are you—just bored? I can guarantee that Mac would happily play all the video games you wanted if it meant you were only killing pixel people."

The look Murdoc sent him was almost dismayed. "Wilt, I just told you, life was getting tedious before Angus. There was no challenge. This?" He held up the game controller. "This is a moment's pleasure, nothing more. A few hours before it's mastered. What I'm teaching your wayward roomie right now, it's a lesson he can carry and use for the rest of his life. Which, admittedly, won't be very much longer if he doesn't start taking it seriously," he added pointedly. "Honestly, at this point I think I need to teach him some basic self defense techniques, as a professional courtesy. His performance over the last few days was just...sad."

The next track finished loading and Bozer used it as an excuse to stop looking at the murderer. "Matty'd be happy to let you use the Phoenix gym."

Beside him, the older man gave a dark chuckle. "It didn't take her long to get back into fighting form. You, on the other hand...you should probably plan for some downtime, Wilt."

"Oh, I'm planning a whole vacation," Wilt assured him as the race started. "Once we lock your crazy ass back up, we're goin' to Bora Bora." He was amazed that his voice was so steady. Sooner or later, this weird break would be over. So would casual conversation. Mac being laid up was the only reason Bozer wasn't getting strapped into his own death machine, just like Matty had been. And he'd said it himself—in a few hours Murdoc would have Mario Kart mastered, and then he'd be bored again. And have to find some other way to entertain himself.

And Bozer didn't want to be within a hundred miles of him when that happened.

"Points for the confidence, Wilt. But don't you think—oh no you don't," he growled as Peach tried and failed to pass him, "that it's a little misplaced?"

"Misplaced?" Bozer snorted, and picked up a green shell. "The only thing misplaced is you. From your prison cell. Honestly I don't know why you haven't started runnin' yet." He fired the green shell, but missed, and Murdoc used Bowser's weight to knock the Princess off the track.

"I think you're putting a little too much faith in the boy scout, Wilt." Murdoc's tone dripped with sincerity. "And I think he proved that by letting himself and Jackie-boy get snapped up so easily. That's the second time that Jack's been right beside him, moments from death, and your darling Angus couldn't save him."

Bozer rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach was rolling just as much. Technically it was true—Mac hadn't been able to stop Jack from getting shot that night after the Claim Jumper, and he hadn't been able to do anything about last night. If Riley hadn't gotten access—if he'd hesitated any longer letting her sneak onto the ranch grounds to _get_ that access—if they'd followed Matty's orders and stayed put, or even delayed the ten minutes waiting for tac—

Mac wouldn't have been able to stop that child molesting asshole from killing Jack.

And that was kind of the point.

"You can try all you want to make this Mac versus you, but it's not gonna work." Bozer indicated the TV with his controller. "There's other players on the track, and we're Team Mac all the way. All of us, against little ol' you." Never mind that Murdoc was playing the largest, heaviest hitter on the track. He was still only one, and they were a team. Mac didn't have to do it alone. Murdoc did.

"And how is that working out for Team Mac?" Murdoc inquired innocently. "Seeing as you're here, and the rest of your team is...not."

The reminder wasn't helping his stomach. "They will be."

Murdoc hmmed, but didn't say anything else, seeming to be concentrating on the game. Bozer did the same. After all, he had a point to make.

He wasn't going to throw the game. Not this one, and not the one Murdoc was playing with Mac. It was bad enough his roomie was still hesitant to lean on them for support. He sure as hell wasn't going to make Murdoc's life easier by playing into his hand.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to just sit around and wait for Murdoc to do whatever it was he had planned.

The track was more complicated than the previous ones, and Bozer barely dodged the lava flood, sliding into Luigi and bouncing off. He was still in the lead, but Bowser's car, with the slowest acceleration in the game but the highest weight, had edged close enough to Pitt him. Which, predictably, Murdoc did. And there was nothing he could do about it. He tried valiantly to make up the distance, but it was a losing battle, and unfortunately there was neither a star nor a shell he could get his hands on. Murdoc smiled broadly as he sailed over the finish line.

Bozer gave him a sour look. "I don't suppose this place has a bathroom?" Then he thumbed over his shoulder, at the door he had carefully not been looking at earlier.

Murdoc's look was almost pitying. "Really?"

"Yeah really." Bozer tossed his controller down and stood, trying to be casual and not too fast. Climbing out of a bean bag after a marathon gaming session was an art he'd mastered long ago, and he was willing to bet Murdoc had not.

And he was right. The other man made to get up as if he was getting out of a chair, rather than the less-than-graceful hip roll Boze had done. And there was no way Murdoc's leg was completely healed from being stabbed by Mark Kyser when he'd grabbed Matty. His reflexes were still plenty fast, however; he blocked the kick Bozer aimed at his face, but fell back into the bean bag, and Wilt didn't miss a beat, stomping down hard right where that scar had to be, making the assassin cry out. Bozer didn't hesitate, snagging his own bean bag and throwing it on top of his captor before leaping on top, knees first. Murdoc's face went from surprised to furious in less than a blink, and then bloody as Bozer punched him right in the nose. He didn't stop punching until the assassin stopped squirming.

Wilt leaned up, breathing hard, but Murdoc didn't so much as twitch, and Bozer pushed himself off the bean bag sandwich and jogged for the door, shaking out his stinging hand. The handle turned, but the door didn't open, and Bozer pushed and pulled on it furiously before he noticed a little bit of dried wood putty on the edge of the door, and the color-matched but perfectly sanded square of the wooden frame, right over where the deadbolt would be.

Murdoc had clearly done something else to the door.

Bozer hurried back to the bean bags and kicked one of the legs sticking out from between them, but nothing happened. He pulled the bean bag off hesitantly, using it as a shield, but Murdoc was out cold. Ignoring the way it made his skin crawl, Bozer quickly patted him down. He was unarmed—no gun, no knives, nothing—but he did have a set of keys in his pocket, including a car key and a little black plastic fob. Bozer hurried back to the door, looking for a place to try one of the other keys, when he heard a quiet click. He tried the handle again, and this time the door pulled open smoothly.

He stared at the door a moment, then at the little unmarked black fob. So it was some kind of magnetic lock that worked by proximity.

Meaning he could just shut the door, and Murdoc would be locked in his own cell.

Bozer hurried into the dimly lit hallway and pulled the door shut firmly behind him. Then he waited just a second for his eyes to adjust.

They didn't. The previous room had been pretty dingy and dim; this was a hallway lit straight out of the Silent Hill playbook. A few incredibly weak bulbs, mostly fluorescent and clearly needing replacement long ago, flickered along the long, beige hallway. There was no sign of light under any of the doors, and nothing on the walls, like a handy phone. With no exit signs, illuminated or otherwise, he decided to go right, where the hallway intersected with another one that turned out to be just as dimly lit as the one he was in. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

It couldn't have looked more like a first person shooter if Murdoc had tried, and Bozer started to wonder uneasily if the Nintendo 64 had just been the pleasant distraction it seemed, or was legitimately part of the whole 'test.' After all, if Murdoc had watched him and Riley playing by the pool, no reason the creeper couldn't have similarly paparazzied one of his and Mac's all-night gaming sessions.

Which meant opening any of the doors in this hallway was probably a really bad idea.

But alien monsters or not, he needed to find a phone or an exit. Fast. Still a little out of breath, Bozer hesitated, then wrapped the keyring in his hand so that he could use one of the keys as a weapon, and he tried the door on his left. The handle was stiff but it turned, and Bozer froze, and waited for something to happen.

Nothing did.

He eased the door open, just a little, eyeing the gap between himself and the pitch blackness, but he didn't see any wires—not that he would, all there was was dark, and pitch dark—and the room beyond smelled musty, but not in a rotting zombie kind of way. He pushed it open and got the impression that it was a small room, and mostly empty. There were some shadowy shapes looming in the corners, but nothing was moving. He clumsily patted the wall with his left hand, seeking a lightswitch, but once he found it and flipped it on, nothing happened. No phone on the wall either.

The next room was the same. And the room after that.

Bozer jogged down the hall, towards the next intersection, but hesitated by a door that had a glass window, showing him the room inside was as pitch black as all the others. Still, this one seemed more like an office, and the levered handle clicked loudly as he forced it open. One of the weak fluorescents was fairly close, flickering anemically, and showed him, finally, just what he expected to see. A desk, a chair, a table lamp—and an old, eighties style white vinyl phone.

Stifling a whoop, he snagged the receiver, and before he'd even brought it to his ear he could hear a harsh-sounding dial tone.

"Oh thank god you never change your phone number, buddy," he murmured, dropping the keys on the desk as he spun the clunky box around and hunted for the dial pad amidst the twenty other buttons. But then he hesitated. Mac was probably at a hospital by now, he might not even be awake. Calling Phoenix was the better play. The buttons were caked with age and dust and he had to smash them to get them to depress. He could barely see what the hell he was doing, and Bozer sidestepped the desk, so as much of the shitty outside light as possible would shine in.

It didn't really help; it was like he hadn't moved at all, and Bozer glanced up to see that someone was standing in the doorway.

Bozer flinched back with a shriek of surprise, hurling the receiver at the shape, but the silhouette dodged easily, and Bozer grabbed the body of the phone and chucked that too. Murdoc—and it _was_ Murdoc, the height, the build, the hair, and the slightly nasal chuckle cinched it—sidestepped into the darkness and literally disappeared.

Wilt didn't wait to see where he'd rematerialize. He hurled the lamp in the direction Murdoc had melted into, swiped the keys back off the desk, and made a beeline for the door. He almost thought he'd made it; he was fumbling with the keys and swung wildly at the place he thought Murdoc might be—and a thin cord slipped right over his face to cut deep into his throat.

"See, that's another thing I like you about, Wilt," the assassin hissed in his ear, not even out of breath as the cord tightened. Bozer could hear his leather gloves creaking with the strain as the assassin literally took him off his feet. Bozer scrabbled frantically at the cord, but it was slick and small and he couldn't get a finger under it. It felt almost like a cell phone charge cable—or the cord of an N64 controller.

At the realization, the keys fell to the tile floor with a clatter as his feet kicked, trying and failing to find purchase. After that, all he could hear was the blood thundering in his ears, and Murdoc's utterly calm voice.

"You also regularly surprise me. I should say, you impress me. It doesn't happen as often as you'd think."

The cord dug in deeper, and Bozer wondered if it had cut his skin. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even choke. It hurt, so bad—

"I respect you, Wilt. That's why I'm going to go easy on you. Do be a pet and try not to make that so hard, hmm?"

* * *

"Sofía," Ramirez's voice was kind and gentle as he spoke to the young girl. She sat across from him in the small, quiet conference room at the same hospital Mac and Jack were being treated at. A Phoenix social worker was present as well, ready to step in on the little girl's behalf. Sofía was sitting in an office chair raised up as high as it could go, coloring in an animal-themed coloring book, with that stuffed bunny still clutched in her arm. She wouldn't look at him, but he knew she was listening.

"Sofía, is it alright if I ask you some questions about last night?" the tac agent asked gently in her native language. Sofía didn't answer, but her coloring slowed some, and though her head was bowed, Ramirez saw the fear in her eyes.

"We don't have to talk about what the men who took you did, yet," he assured her quickly. "But would you be up for talking about where you went after we took you out of there?"

The little girl shrugged eloquently, putting her pink crayon down and grabbing a purple, returning her attention to the giraffe on the page in front of her.

"Where did you go after you were carried out of there?" he asked.

"To the men with the guns," Sofía replied quietly. "And then the nice man took me to the car."

"The man who carried you to the men with the guns took you to the car?"

Sofía shook her head.

So, Murdoc was 'the nice man.' That was a new one.

"Was the man who carried you in the car with you?"

Sofía nodded. "In the front seat."

Ramirez swallowed, but didn't react beyond that, just giving the girl a gentle smile. "Okay. You're doing great, Sofía. What happened after the nice man put you in the car?"

"He gave me a bunny and let me watch Spongebob on his tablet," the little girl told him, switching crayons again and turning the leaves the giraffe was eating—and the tree they came from—a bright blue.

No wonder he was considered 'the nice man.' "Good. And then what happened?"

"He drove around for a long time," Sofía was starting to relax just a bit. "He and his friend talked a little. I couldn't hear them."

"And what about when you got to the gas station?"

Sofía hesitated a little bit, then gave another shrug of her shoulders.

Ricardo paused as well. He didn't want to push the little girl too hard, but he needed answers.

"Sofía, can you tell me what happened when you got to the gas station?"

"The nice man's friend left," Sofía explained. "And then so did the nice man for a few minutes."

"Did he come back?"

Sofía nodded mutely, starting to turn her picture's sky green and yellow.

"What happened when he came back?"

"He was mad," Sofía replied, and Ramirez felt his stomach drop. "He was mad like how grown-ups get mad when they don't want people to know. He kept smiling like grown-ups do when they're trying not to be mad."

"And what did he do?"

"He told me it was time for bed. He took Spongebob away and made me lay down on the seat and tucked me in. He said that some friends of Mac and Jack would be coming to pick me up. And..."

She trailed off, picking up red and orange crayons for the ground her giraffe was standing on. Ramirez waited for a few seconds before prompting her gently, "And what?"

"He said something weird," the little girl admitted at last, seeming totally focused on her coloring page. "He said that you would ask me a lot of questions, like you're doing now. And he said that you would have one question that you wouldn't ask me."

Ricardo swallowed, glancing over at the social worker, who looked about as unsettled as he felt. "Did he tell you what that question was?"

Sofía shook her head. "No, but he told me the answer."

"What was the answer?"

"'Because it would have broken Mac,'" she replied, still not looking up as she finished her coloring.

Ramirez did his best to keep his face calm, even though his stomach was churning. He glanced at the social worker again, then forced himself to smile. When he spoke, his voice remained steady, calm, and ever-patient.

"What did he do next?"

"He told me to go to sleep, and then closed the door," the little girl answered readily. "I fell asleep."

Ramirez nodded. "Can you tell me where the man went, or what he was wearing?"

"I don't know where he went," Sofía shook her head. "But he was dressed like you."

"He was wearing an outfit like mine?" the older man raised his eyebrows, looking down at the tactical gear covering his body. Sofía nodded in confirmation, turning the page and starting to color in a fawn with a light green.

"His had white letters on it."

"How many letters?"

"Four."

Murdoc had posed as SWAT. That at least partially explained how he'd managed to go unnoticed in a sea of law enforcement. Ramirez slowly let out his breath, studying the little girl for a moment before giving another tight-lipped smile.

"Okay," he sighed. "I think that's enough for now. Hey, you know, Tomás is here, too."

At the mention of her friend's name, Sofía finally lifted her head. Ramirez smiled for real this time.

"Do you want me to ask the doctors if you can see him?"

Sofía nodded eagerly.

"Okay," Ramirez agreed, getting up. "You wait here with Miss Dani, and I'll talk to the doctors. Deal?"

Again, the young girl nodded, returning to her coloring once more, and Ramirez glanced at the social worker before hurrying out into the hallway, where Simmons was waiting for him. His team leader stopped his pacing and looked at him expectantly.

"She doesn't know much," the tac agent reported grimly. "Murdoc had her watching Spongebob on a tablet the whole time. She doesn't know where he went. He was dressed like a SWAT agent—and apparently, it was accurate enough to fool all the actual SWAT agents around him. According to her, they got to the gas station, Boze got out of the car, then Murdoc got out of the car, and then Murdoc came back to her. He told her the answer to the question we were all asking but won't ask her."

"What, why he left her alive?" Simmons raised an eyebrow. Ramirez nodded.

"Because it would have broken Mac," he answered before his team lead could press further. "Which...true enough, I guess."

"Yeah," Simmons scoffed. "I don't think any of us could have handled finding her body in that car. Especially considering the fact that he wouldn't have killed her nicely. Guess it wouldn't be any fun if Mac shut down on him."

"Speaking of Mac, how is he?"

"He's still out. Jack is in with him; I think he's still out, too. They'll both be fine; I didn't catch what it was they were being drugged with, but whatever it was, it didn't do any lasting damage."

"Good," Ramirez approved with a sigh. "I'm gonna go talk to Tomás's doctors, see if I can't get Sofía in to see him. Meet you upstairs?"

"Sure," Simmons agreed. The floor above them had the room they'd secured for Mac and Jack. They wanted to secure the whole floor, but with so many victims in need of medical attention, there just wasn't space for that. With this, the pair split up, and Simmons headed up towards Mac and Jack's room. Jada and Locke were waiting outside, guarding the door. Both nodded at him when he approached.

Inside, Riley had her feet up on the nightstand between Mac and Jack's beds, fast asleep, exhaustion overtaking her. Mac and Jack, as expected, were both out cold. Simmons slipped inside, closing the door quietly before taking out his phone. Calling Matty about Murdoc mere feet from the very person they were supposed to be keeping that information from was less than ideal, but with the huge surge of patients and personnel in the hospital, this room was the most private place there. As much as they didn't want Mac to overhear, they sure as hell didn't want anyone else to overhear, either.

"Did the girl say anything?" Director Webber asked in lieu of a greeting.

"Not much," Simmons answered quietly, not wanting to wake the agents in the room with him. "She doesn't know where Murdoc went. She said he was dressed like a SWAT agent, though, so we can at least guess how this all went down."

"Once he had Sofía, it's not like Bozer could have said no," Matty sighed. "How's she holding up?"

"Surprisingly well, considering everything she's been through," Simmons reported. "In the car, she told Ramirez that she had parents, and her dad is American. Hopefully we can track them down. Any luck on your end?"

"The lack of cameras in the area is making it pretty much impossible to find the car Murdoc and Bozer left in," Matty reported, regret in her voice. "But we're checking every car we find on all the nearest cameras. Satellite coverage isn't helping us much, either. We might be able to cover more ground once Riley wakes up—she is asleep, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Simmons confirmed. "All three of them are. Just like you told them."

"Well at least they listen to me every once in a while," Matty grumbled. Simmons smirked slightly before she continued. "I want you and tac to get some rest, too, Simmons; you've all put in just as many hours as the rest of us."

"And who's gonna tell you to get some rest, Matty?" Simmons asked, half teasing, half concerned.

"No one, if they know what's good for them," Matty responded, her tone almost warning him to back off. Almost. "I'll grab a few hours when I can. I still have to coordinate with a few agencies to start trying to get those people back where they belong."

"Alright," Simmons surrendered. "I'll start rotating out tac, keep a couple people on Mac and Jack and send the rest to get some sleep, and then switch them out."

"Sounds like a plan," Matty approved. "Keep me posted."

"Will do," the team leader promised before hanging up. He took another look at the three agents fast asleep before him, then rubbed his tired eyes and left the room, letting them sleep in peace.

* * *

Jack woke up not knowing exactly how much time had passed, but the sun was shining through the window, and when he looked to his right, Riley was awake and typing away at her keyboard, her feet up on the nightstand between his bed and Mac's. Mac was apparently still asleep in his bed, but he was looking a lot better than he had when Jack last saw him.

"Hey, Riles," Jack's voice was gravelly with sleep, but it pulled Riley's attention immediately. She smiled at him, dropping her feet and putting her laptop down on the nightstand, closing the screen.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she teased, turning in her chair to face him. Jack chuckled softly, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

"How long have I been out?"

"Oh, not long," Riley scoffed sarcastically, glancing at her watch. "Just...about fourteen hours."

"Jesus," Jack laughed, suppressing a yawn. Then he remembered what happened right before he passed out, sobering quickly as he glanced over at Mac. He was apparently unconscious, but...best not reveal anything just yet. "Any luck?"

Riley's smile faded as well, and she shook her head. "Not yet."

Jack just nodded, letting that be the end of it for now. He nodded in the direction of his partner, "How's Mac?"

"Awake," Mac still sounded exhausted, but he pried his eyes open and turned his head to look at the two of them. "Barely."

"Hey, welcome back, Mac," Riley smiled at him.

"Hey Riley," Mac smiled back. "Where's Boze?"

"Helping out with the victims," Riley replied readily, offering a shrug. "We've gotten everyone documented and processed; now we're working on trying to get everyone back where they came from."

"Good," Mac nodded. He shifted his tired eyes to Jack. "You okay?"

"I feel great," Jack grinned, his cut lip making it a bit lopsided. Mac chuckled softly.

"Tell you one thing, though," Jack continued with a sigh. "I am _starving_. What about you, Mac?"

"Now that you've said something, I could eat a horse," Mac nodded.

"You guys want me to raid the food court?" Riley offered.

"Yes please," Jack grinned again. Riley smiled slightly and stood up.

"I'll be back soon," she promised. The two patients thanked her, and as soon as she was gone and the door was closed, Jack tossed his covers away and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and getting to his feet.

"Whoa, Jack, maybe you should take it easy..." Mac looked at his partner in concern and confusion. Jack ignored him, instead grabbing his IV stand and walking over to the chair Riley had vacated and carefully lowering himself into it, looking his partner in the eye. The seriousness of his expression made Mac's stomach lurch.

"Mac, I've gotta tell you somethin', but you've gotta promise to, as much as possible, not freak out," Jack began slowly. "I know that's a big ask, but if you freak out, we're all gonna crumble. And we should both be prepared for some backlash because I've been expressly ordered not to tell you any of this."

"What?" Mac already looked pale and horrified. "Was it one of the kids? Is Tomás okay?"

"He's gonna be fine," Jack assured him. "I was awake for a little bit when we arrived; most of his injuries are superficial. Sofía is fine, too."

Mac relaxed, and gave him a look that told him to continue. Jack took as deep of a breath as he could manage.

"Okay, there's really no way for me to ease you into this, so I'm just gonna say it." Jack seemed visibly nervous. "Murdoc has Bozer."

"What?" Mac paled even further, horror filling his face. "How? When?"

"We think it happened right around the time he got Sofía to SWAT," Jack replied, carefully watching his partner's reaction.

"But we talked to him," Mac argued desperately, breathing fast, his eyes gleaming. "We both heard him!"

"We think Murdoc was with him at the time," Jack explained gently. "He probably forced Boze to talk to us. We found the car they were in, abandoned at an old gas station, Boze's phone in the cupholder. Sofía was in the back seat."

"Oh my God," Mac's voice shook. "Is she okay? Did he—"

"She's fine, Mac; I told you," Jack soothed patiently. "Murdoc didn't touch her, as far as I could tell. I don't have a whole lot of information about what happened; I fell asleep right after we got to the hospital. There was some blood on some tissues in the front seat, but not a lot; Murdoc couldn't have seriously hurt him. And he won't, yet. You know that. He can't hurt Boze until he can get to you to start the game. As long as he can't get to you, Boze is...about as safe as he _can_ be, in these circumstances."

"Then why did Riley lie to me just now?" Mac challenged, clearly struggling to keep it together. "If he's so safe, why lie?"

"I said as safe as he can be," Jack reminded him. "Not safe. And she lied because Matty told her to—told all of us to. Because she knew that if we told you, you wouldn't exactly cooperate with the plan to just keep you as far away from Murdoc as possible."

"And why are _you_ telling me?" Mac asked him, his hands shaking just slightly on his lap.

"Hey, c'mon, man; we promised, no more lies," Jack frowned slightly at him. "Mac, I know you're scared, and I know you're freaking out, but stay with me, brother. We're gonna get through this together. We're gonna bring Boze home; I promise you that. And I know you want to get out there and do something to help him, but honestly, the best thing you can do for Boze is stay here and rest. Like I said, as long as Murdoc can't get to you, he can't start the game, and until the game starts, he can't hurt Bozer. Matty's got every available resource looking for him; we're gonna bring him home."

"How can you promise that?" Mac demanded, clearly struggling to keep it together. "Yes, Murdoc wants me to play his fucked up game, but not taking an exam is the same as failing it; he could just kill Boze to make a point!"

"Then why would he make Boze talk to us and ask how we were doing?" Jack challenged. "If he was going to just kill him, he wouldn't have bothered."

"That's not true," Mac argued, frowning in frustration. "When we talked to Boze, the exam hadn't started yet. He could have started the clock by now but I wouldn't know it because he can't contact me. I can't just wait it out, Jack; I have to do this or Boze is as good as dead!"

"Mac, I told you, you can't panic," Jack's voice remained patient and soothing. "You panic, and Murdoc wins. Stay with me, brother; don't go off the rails now. He contacted you through email last time; we're monitoring that. If he tries to get in touch with you, we'll know, and we'll play along. But until then, keeping you away from Boze buys us all some time."

"Unless it doesn't and Boze is already dying or dead," Mac shot back.

"He wouldn't do that and you know it!" Jack scowled at him, though not unkindly. "He's put too much effort into this to throw it away without trying. Mac, you need to calm down; you can't help Boze one way or the other if you're not thinking straight."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Jack!" Mac snapped. "He's in this mess because of me! He never signed up for this life; I dragged him into it!"

"No, _Murdoc_ dragged him into it! That bastard would be coming after him whether Boze was an agent or not, just like the first time. And before you say it, no, it's not your fault just because you were his friend in the first place! You're not at fault for having friends, Mac, especially friends you made long before you even joined the Army! This is not. On. You. Now stop fighting me, Mac; we're in this together!"

Mac didn't say anything, glaring halfheartedly at his partner as his chest heaved and his eyes glistened in the artificial light. Jack held his gaze, not backing down, fixing his partner with a look he knew well—a look that said to get it together and stop trying to make enemies out of friends. They had a bit of a staring contest for several seconds, before Mac finally relented, his anger melting into fear and distress moments before he tore his eyes away, taking a slow, deep breath, calming himself. Jack was right; Murdoc was trying to tear them apart. He wanted Mac to be isolated from his support network. He was just giving him what he wanted.

"You're right," Jack couldn't hide his shock when his partner said the words. "You're right; I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. But...Jack, I can't just do nothing. It's Boze. I can't just sit here while he's out there with _Murdoc_."

"You have to, buddy," Jack told him sympathetically, regret in his expression. "I wish I could tell you different, but until that bastard gives us no choice, the two of us gotta wait it out. You get that, right? The plan—as backwards as it seems at first—could work. We just have to give it time. We have to trust our team. If Murdoc reaches out and starts that clock, we'll do what we have to do. For now, we both rest up. Okay? You with me, Mac?"

Mac took another deep breath, letting it out slowly before he nodded. "Yeah."

"Good," Jack approved, still amazed at, impressed by, and proud of how well his partner was pulling it together. If Mac could just keep his head in the game, then no matter how this played out—whether Phoenix found Boze before Murdoc started the exam or not—that psychopathic bastard didn't stand a chance.

The pair talked for a few more minutes, and then Riley returned, Ramirez in tow, helping her carry a second tray full of sandwiches, soups, crackers, muffins, and a slice of cake each. She looked surprised when she saw Jack in her seat.

"What are you doing out of bed, old man?" she teased. Then she looked between the two of them, and without either of them saying a word, she knew.

"You told him," she stated finally, sounding almost defeated.

"No more lies," Jack replied with a shrug. "We start keeping things from each other, and we're doing half of Murdoc's job for him."

Riley didn't argue with him, just setting the tray she was holding down on the end of Mac's bed and rubbing her eyes wearily.

"Hey, Riley, I'm okay," Mac intervened, forcing a slight smile. "Really, I am. Even if we weren't trying to keep me away from Murdoc, there's not much I can do until he reaches out anyway. I'm good. I get it. I'm not mad at you guys. I am, however, starving, so if you wouldn't mind..."

Riley chuckled slightly, still seeming stressed, but picked up the tray and handed it to him, while Ramirez passed the one in his hands off to Jack. The tac agent turned to leave, but Mac stopped him.

"Hey, Ricardo," Ramirez turned back to him, "how's Sofía?"

"She's good," the man assured him, giving a grin. "She's got some interesting ideas about what colors giraffes should be, but other than that, all good. She and Tomás are hanging out in Tomás's room. He's got a couple cracked ribs, some bruises and cuts, and a concussion, but he'll be okay. Physically, at least. Although, last I saw them, they were watching _Land_ _Before_ _Time_ like nothing happened, so who knows; maybe they'll both just shrug it off."

"Kids are amazing like that," Jack chuckled, shoving his sandwich into his mouth.

"Tomás has been asking about you both, too," Ricardo added. "Would you be up for a visit? The last time either of them saw you, you were in bad shape; might help if they actually see that you're going to be fine, as opposed to me just telling them."

"Sure," Jack agreed enthusiastically as Mac nodded along.

"Cool," Ramirez smiled. "I'll be right back."

With this, he left the room, heading down the hall and around the corner, continuing until he came to a small private room at the end of the hall. He could hear the latest movie playing from his place outside the door, and he knocked quickly before walking in. Sofía and Tomás were both sitting on Tomás's bed, _The Lion King_ playing on the TV. Between the two of them was a large basket, half filled with candy, toys, and games, the remaining contents strewn about the bed. Tomás had just eaten a Sour Patch Kid, and Sofía was laughing at his sour face. Ramirez blinked at the two of them in clear, unmasked shock.

"Hey, you two," he greeted them in the language they shared, schooling his features quickly. "What do you have, there?"

Both kids went quiet, as if they thought they were going to be punished. Ramirez gave them both an easy smile.

"It's okay," he promised them, watching the pair slowly relax again, "you guys aren't in trouble. Who gave you the basket?"

"The delivery man," Sofía replied, slowly chewing on a gummy bear, slightly at ease but still guarded.

Ramirez wandered farther into the room, keeping his movements slow, relaxed, casual—as non-threatening as possible. He surveyed their haul: candies, chocolates, cookies, and toys were scattered about. It was every kid's dream.

"Was there a card?" He asked finally, concealing how unsettling he found this whole situation. Sofía nodded, pushing some of the cookies aside and picking up a slip of paper. In perfect Spanish, someone had written: _Sorry to cut the roadtrip short. I hope this makes up for it. The calendar is for Mac._

Ricardo's face paled, although he tried to keep it together.

"It's from the nice man," Sofía told him after a couple seconds. As if the card hadn't sealed it.

 _Okay, Ricardo, don't panic. Don't freak the kids out,_ the tac agent told himself.

"Well, that was nice of him," he forced the words past his lips as he slapped a smile on his face. "What calendar?"

This time, Tomás responded by digging through the giant basket of goodies and pulling out a small planner, which he handed to the older man. Ricardo flipped through it. It was mostly empty, but when he got to the current month, and his heart sank. The following day's date had been circled, and an event had been added in black ink, the handwriting different than that on the card.

 _Exam 2 at 5 PM. Meet at Phoenix for instructions._

Ricardo cursed internally and took a deep breath. Tomorrow at five. That left them just over twenty-four hours to find Bozer before the exam started.

And until then, there was absolutely nothing Mac or Jack could do about it.

After another moment of hesitation, he carefully tucked the planner into his back pocket and forced another smile.

"Alright, well, I came by to tell you both that Mac and Jack are both awake," he told them, watching the pair light up. "Would you like to go say hi?"

The two kids nodded vigorously, sliding off the bed—Tomás wincing as he did so—and following Ricardo into the hall and back towards Mac and Jack's room. As they walked, Ricardo texted Riley, telling her to come out in the hall with him once he arrived. After a moment of thought, he also added to bring her computer.

Ramirez and the two children arrived outside the room, and the tac agent glanced down at them before knocking quickly and pushing the door open, slapping a smile on his face. Jack had returned to his bed, and both he and his partner had gotten at least half way through the massive amounts of food that had been piled on their plates.

"Incoming," Ramirez warned just as Sofía and Tomás pushed past him and ran inside. Sofía clambered up onto Jack's bed to hug him, and Ramirez gently lifted Tomás onto Mac's.

As the four of them were talking, Ramirez shifted his eyes to Riley, who wordlessly picked up her laptop and followed him out into the hall.

"What's going on?" Riley demanded, concern in her expression.

"Murdoc sent the kids a gift basket," Ricardo stated, and Riley recoiled slightly in shock.

"I'm sorry, what?" she balked.

"Yeah, full of candy and cookies and toys," the tac agent nodded. "That and this."

He removed the planner from his pocket, still open to the circled date, and Riley's heart sank.

"Keep looking for him," Ricardo ordered, meeting her eyes. "I'll call Matty."

"You gonna tell Mac and Jack?"

"Not yet. There's no point. Let them relax for a little while longer."

Riley nodded absently, sitting down in a chair and opening her laptop as Ricardo pulled out his phone and called Matty.

"Ramirez," Director Webber greeted him. "You have a status report for me?"

"Yes ma'am," Ramirez confirmed. "And you're not going to like it."

* * *

 **...So...Hi. I know it's been like...forever. Sorry about that. It's been a crazy time lately. My parents moved. I moved. I got a kitten. His name is Stanlee. He's a tabby. He's adorable. Anyway, so sorry for the wait, but I'm back, and I intend to get this shit done, and hopefully a lot faster than last time. I know I said I was gonna start the exam in this one but, well...I mean look how long this ended up being; I'd have to be a masochist to do all this and also include the exam. Besides, Mac needed a stay of execution, don't you think?**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next time!**


	7. Exam 2

The following day, after the team had returned to Los Angeles, Mac and Jack had had another opportunity to sleep and eat, and the pair had finally been told about the gift basket and the exam deadline, everyone had gathered in the war room, waiting anxiously for Murdoc to contact them. Mac was pacing the back wall, moving reasonably well thanks to some preparatory stretching—and prescription strength acetaminophen and ibuprofen, as he wouldn't accept anything stronger—and while he was visibly tense, he was also clearly doing a bit better than the last time. Jack stood nearby, keeping himself still and steady, and the two of them were finally in sync.

Still, by the time five o'clock rolled around, Mac looked about ready to crawl out of his skin, and Jack had to step in and interrupt his pacing.

"Mac, you gotta keep it together, man," the former Delta said quietly. "Take a breath. You need your head in the game."

Mac's first instinct was to snap at him, tell him that yes, he knew what he had to do, and didn't need the reminder, but he stopped himself. The fact that that was his initial gut reaction was proof enough that he did, in fact, need the reminder. Mac took a deep breath, nodding quickly and giving Jack a grateful look. Jack's half smile was enough to force some of the tension from his body.

At five past five, Mac's phone alerted him to a new email. The sender's address was unfamiliar, but that didn't matter. Mac opened the email anyway.

There were no links this time. No long-winded rants. Not even a personal greeting. The message was fairly short and to the point.

 _You will be allowed exactly one (1) partner for this exam. Choose wisely. Cheating—including, but not limited to, consulting/communicating with others and/or having other people besides your chosen partner present during the exam—will result in an automatic fail. No cell phones will be permitted in the exam room._

 _There is a car waiting for you in front of the building. More instructions will follow. The driver has no idea what's going on; behave, and I might not have him killed upon arrival._

 _You have until 5:10 to be in that waiting vehicle, or you will receive an automatic fail._

At that last bit, Mac's blood turned to ice. It was 5:07. He looked up at Jack, who had been reading over his shoulder. The unspoken communication between them was perfectly clear.

Obviously, Mac was choosing him for a partner. And they had to go. _Now._

Without saying anything to Matty or Riley, Jack dropped his phone onto a nearby seat cushion, and Mac tossed his to Riley, who caught it somewhat clumsily. Then, they were out the door. Matty tried to call after them, but they didn't slow down. There wasn't time to explain. They had three minutes to get to the exact opposite side of the building.

The pair sprinted through the halls, around corners, and past coworkers, making a beeline for the front doors. As the doors came into sight, sure enough, they saw a town car waiting for them. Still running, Mac risked a glance at the clock over the reception desk. They had thirty seconds.

Mac was in front, so he quickly pushed the door open and dashed through it, Jack right on his heels, and yanked open the car's back door, practically throwing himself inside. The second Jack's feet were clear, he slammed the door shut behind him, as though hitting the STOP button on a timer. Mac lifted his watch and stared as the second hand passed the twelve, bringing them to exactly 5:10 PM. The car's engine started, and they were smoothly on their way.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, just trying to catch their breath as reality set in. They just got into a car that a murderer had called for. They had no idea where it was going. They had no means of calling for help. They had no way to be tracked. And they had no idea what Murdoc had in mind for this next test.

The partition was up between the back seat and the front, so Mac and Jack couldn't even see the driver. As both settled into their seats, Mac spotted the envelope on the beverage cooler to his left. He picked it up, looked at Jack, and ripped it open. It was a typed letter, and Mac shifted closer to his partner to let him read along.

 _I'm glad you made it, Angus. I am so looking forward to this; aren't you?_

 _Now, to elaborate on the "behave" part of my email: No talking to the driver. No trying to get a message out through him. No trying to call for help in general. This is a test, after all, and I'm already being nice enough to allow you a partner; don't push it._

 _When you arrive, go ahead inside. I've instructed the driver to drop you right at the entrance. I'll give you direction once you're in there; wouldn't want to spoil the surprise._

"God, Jack, what have we done?" Mac grumbled, his voice low, settling back into his seat.

"What we had to do," Jack shrugged, making sure to stay just as quiet as his partner. "We'll figure this out when we get there, Mac. Until then, just like before, there's no point in stressing. We got this, Mac; we're not gonna give that bastard any excuse to hurt Boze."

"Assuming he hasn't hurt him already," Mac's voice trembled just a bit, even just above a whisper. "And you know he has."

"No, I don't know that, and neither do you," Jack denied, almost scoldingly. "What the hell would make you say that?"

"He didn't hurt Sofía," Mac replied, trying to keep his voice down.

"And?"

" _And_ , he did that for me," Mac continued with a little huff. "It wasn't just so she could pass on a message; he could have killed her and left that planner in the car. He couldn't have known he would get his hands on a child hostage; she was a huge inconvenience, and yet he still let her play with Cassian's toys, made her comfortable, even tucked her in before he left. He could have killed her. It would have been so much easier to kill her, instead of keeping her comfortable and quiet. We _handed_ him a child, and he just let her go. He just..."

Mac trailed off, shaking his head and trying to look out the heavily tinted window to his left, nervously picking at a piece of leather on the door panel that was coming loose. It took him a couple seconds before he found his voice again, dropped his hand, and turned back to Jack, "In his mind, he did that for me. As a favor. And he can call that favor in whenever and however he wants, up to and including hurting Boze before I even have the chance to stop him."

Jack stared at him for a second, sympathy in his expression, before he let out a sigh.

"Maybe you're right," he allowed. "But speculating about it does nothing for anyone, least of all Boze. Get that shit out of your head, man; there's no point in it, and you need to focus. Now get it together, Mac; we got a job to do."

He was right, and Mac knew it. The blond agent took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Jack was right. He had to get it together, for Bozer's sake and his own. He had to keep his head and focus. He could unpack it all later, when his best friend was safe.

They sat through the rest of the car ride in silence, and about an hour and a half later, their town car came to a stop and the partition came down. Their driver looked even younger than Mac, with dark, well-kept hair and a kind face.

"Last stop, gentlemen," he said cheerfully, and Mac remembered that he had no idea what was really happening. "Don't worry about a tip; your producer was more than generous. Have a nice evening!"

Producer. So Murdoc had gone for a theatrical theme this time. That was most certainly a nod to Mac's roommate and his love of film. The two agents forced themselves to smile.

"Thank you," they both said before Jack opened his door and climbed out, Mac sliding across the seat after him. The younger agent paused just before he exited, forcing another smile. "Have a good night."

It was all he could say without risking Murdoc following through with his threat to kill the driver. The driver smiled at him, and then Mac stepped out of the car and closed the door.

As the car drove away, Mac and Jack stared up at the structure before them. It was two stories, decently large, but not giant. It was a building that would go entirely unnoticed. The pair couldn't quite tell where they'd ended up, and the tinting on their ride's windows hadn't helped their case, but if Mac had to guess, they were somewhere near Hollywood.

"You ready?" Jack asked him gently. Mac took a deep breath, glancing at him, then nodded.

"Let's go."

Jack led the way up to the door, and carefully pulled it open. The hinges screamed in protest, but before long, both agents were inside.

The front room was surprisingly clean and well-lit, compared to the shabby exterior. It looked like a waiting room, except that there was a metal detector in front of the door to the next room. The device was framed with wood secured to the walls on either side of the door, making sure no one could simply walk around it. The door itself was closed, not allowing even a glimpse at what they were walking into. Mac clocked the camera in the corner almost immediately, and when he tapped Jack's arm, he nodded, telling his partner that he saw it, too. Mac spotted a paper on the coffee table to their left, and picked it up wordlessly. Jack read along over his shoulder.

 _Welcome to the show, you two. Before we can really get started, any and all weapons must be left outside the exam room. Mac, you can keep the knife; you may need it. Just slide it through ahead of you and pick it up in the next room. But everything else must be left here. If either of you set off that metal detector for any other reason, you will receive an automatic fail._

"Dammit," Jack grumbled, visibly irritated.

"C'mon; we don't know how much time we have," Mac sighed, putting the paper down and starting to empty his pockets. "You gotta take off anything metal, not just weapons; we can't risk setting that thing off."

Jack scoffed, but did as he was told, putting his weapons (gun, backup gun, knife in his boot, etc.) as well as his watch, wallet, belt, and keys on the coffee table, Mac mimicking him. Both agents were trying not to think about how they were basically handing all of these things to Murdoc—their keys, most concerningly. The pair exchanged glances, and Mac's jaw tightened before he picked up his knife and walked over to the detector, sliding the tool across the floor and through the device until it bumped against the next door. The red light on top lit up, flashing as a low-pitched alarm alerted them to the presence of metal.

They waited until the machine got quiet, and then Mac stepped forward. Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"There's not enough room for both of us to go through without going into the next room," he stated, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard. "There's not a chance in hell I'm letting you go in there first."

Mac's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Jack stepped up to the machine, quickly patted himself down one more time to make absolutely certain he'd gotten rid of everything metal, then walked through the sensor.

The machine remained silent.

Mac let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as Jack stooped to pick up Mac's knife.

"Ready?" the older man asked his partner. Mac nodded, stepping closer to the machine. As Jack pushed open the door in front of him, Mac walked through the sensors. The machine stayed silent, and then the pair was standing in complete darkness.

The lights came on after a short delay, revealing a room nearly identical to the first.

"What the hell?" Jack grumbled, looking around. There was one door in front of them, just like the previous room, but unlike the previous room, there was no metal detector. The only other differences were that there was no paper on the table to their left, and there was a TV mounted to the left hand wall. Mac looked around, then took a few steps forward, grabbing the door handle. It held fast.

"Locked," he reported to his partner. Jack hesitated, then turned and tried the handle of the door behind them. It also refused to turn.

"Same thing here," he nodded grimly. Before either agent could comment further, the TV they'd spotted switched on of its own accord. They were greeted by Murdoc's smiling face and an applause track. When Mac looked a bit closer, he noticed bruises on his face, concealed by stage makeup.

"Looks like Boze fought back," Jack commented, sounding proud.

"Yeah," Mac agreed, trying not to think about what fighting back might have cost his friend.

"Hello, all, and welcome to the show," Murdoc was doing his best impression of a tv host. The camera panned out just a bit, and Mac realized that he was standing in the middle of what looked like a chef's kitchen. Immediately, his stomach started churning.

"I have a special treat for you all today," Murdoc continued as the applause died down. "We have a little game to play. Please welcome our two guests, Angus MacGyver and Jack Dalton!"

The image on the screen cut to security footage of Mac and Jack—live from the camera in the corner, they realized—as the pre-recorded applause started up again. The two agents looked at each other uneasily, then shifted their eyes back to the screen when Murdoc once again took center stage.

"Yes, we'll be putting those two through the wringer tonight. Now, let's meet the prize our contestants will be trying to win."

The camera panned out again, and Mac's stomach dropped to the floor. Boze was strapped down to the rolling steel island behind which Murdoc stood. His shirt was gone, and his chest was heaving, fighting against the thick strap stretching across it. He was twisting his right wrist in its restraint, desperate for freedom, but the young agent didn't dare move more than that. Murdoc had a sharp kitchen knife in his hand, resting delicately against Bozer's shoulder, so casual that it almost didn't seem like a threat. Almost.

Bozer wasn't looking at the camera; his eyes were darting back and forth between the knife and the psychopath wielding it. Murdoc carelessly lifted the knife as he started speaking, and when Boze instinctively jerked his head back from the sharp point, Mac got a good look at the dark bruise encircling his roommate's neck. The blond agent felt his stomach lurch, but he swallowed hard and forced himself to put his attention on Murdoc.

"That's right; if our contestants play their cards right, they will be walking out of here with none other than Wilt Bozer."

The imaginary audience cheered. Mac and Jack thought they were going to be sick.

"Now, on to the rules," Murdoc forged ahead, and Boze closed his eyes, swallowing hard as fear contorted his features. "Beyond the door in front of our two contestants, there is another room with two exits. One will take them closer to their prize, and the other will take them farther away and waste valuable time. Choosing which door will depend entirely on Mac—and whether or not he was paying attention in class."

Suddenly, it dawned on Mac what he would be doing, what the knife in Murdoc's hand was for, and his face drained of all color as he cursed under his breath, helplessness in his eyes, his hands tightening into fists. Jack glanced over at him, but didn't ask; he'd find out soon enough, and they didn't want to miss any instructions.

"After every choice, there will be a challenge," Murdoc continued. "After every successfully-completed challenge, our contestants will receive a special prize—and trust me, folks: that prize is worth dying for."

Murdoc and the imaginary audience laughed, as though the sociopath had just told a funny joke. Mac's jaw tightened, and he shifted his feet as, beside him, anger flared in Jack's eyes.

"Alright," Murdoc interrupted the laughter, raising the knife dramatically. "Without further ado, let's get on with the show."

Mac held his breath, his eyes going wide, as Murdoc lowered his gaze to the young man strapped to the table.

"Consider this me lifting your gag order, Wilt," he said with a chuckle. "You may speak freely."

But Bozer didn't say anything, just breathing loudly and unevenly as his eyes fixed themselves on the knife in his captor's hand. Murdoc just smiled at him, but as he brought the knife closer to the younger man's skin, the image faded to black, as though the "show" were going to commercial. For a brief second, Mac couldn't figure out why Murdoc would spare them from having to watch, and he physically jumped when the darkened television's small speakers continued broadcasting, and Bozer started _screaming_. Despite the fact there was nothing to see, Mac turned away, closing his eyes and fighting to even out his breathing. He'd never heard his roommate make a sound like that, not in a hundred death scenes had Boze ever managed to convey that kind of pain. It was more than agony—it was terror.

He felt Jack put a hand on his shoulder, and the former Delta leaned in close.

"Mac, I need you to listen to me," the older man said quietly, trying not to let Murdoc overhear as the screams finally went silent. "I know this is getting to you, and I don't blame you, but we need to focus and get this done. Whatever Murdoc just did to him, he needs us to get to him fast, okay? You with me?"

Mac nodded, knowing his partner was right, and took a quick breath, forcing himself to calm down. Boze needed him focused and calm. He could panic later; for now, he had to figure out a way to solve the problem at hand. Without waiting any longer, Mac walked over to the door he'd tried earlier and again grabbed the handle. This time, it turned easily. Jack rushed to follow his partner as he walked into the next room.

This space was much smaller than the last two, maybe five and a half feet on each side. It wasn't well-lit, but it was bright enough for them to be able to see their surroundings. There were two plates on a small table in front of them. Each had a cloth napkin beside it, and each had a commercial-worthy burger on it.

The place cards in front of each plate read 'left' and 'straight,' corresponding to the two doors across the room from them, one on their left and one directly ahead.

"He wants us to do a taste test?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Jack, I cannot stress this enough: Do not eat those," Mac sighed, taking a small step closer to the table. Jack held up his hands, frowning at the two burgers before casting his eyes to his partner, watching the gears turn behind his eyes.

Mac studied the two plates intently. Knowing what Murdoc was going to make him do didn't make this first choice any more obvious. Whatever blood the psychopath had used would be too muddled by the other scents of the burger for him to pick it out. And there was no way in _hell_ he was going to taste either of them.

The blond agent's eyes slid to the napkins, and he tilted his head just slightly. Cloth napkins for burgers? Sure, they were high-quality looking burgers, but they were still burgers. Mac blinked, remembering the very first scent Murdoc had forced him to inhale, and his eyes fell shut with a heavy sigh. God, he didn't want to do this...But Boze didn't have time.

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he reached out and picked up the napkin next to the plate marked 'straight' and brought it up towards his nose, sniffing it hesitantly, his stomach churning almost violently in protest. Sure enough, he could smell sweat mixed with traces of deodorant—and not a deodorant he recognized. Frowning, he picked up the other napkin and smelled that, as well. The sweat was still there, but this deodorant—and more than that, the scent beneath it—he recognized immediately.

Mac dropped both napkins back to the table and turned to Jack.

"Left," he stated matter-of-factly, starting for the door. His partner didn't challenge him, merely following along behind him. Mac had told him everything Murdoc did that night—as cursory of a rundown as he could manage, but still, everything—so he at least knew what was going on. The pair made their way into the next room, and stopped just inside the door. This room was also small, with a table in the middle, but there was no food on this table, only a piece of paper. Mac let out a weary sigh, then stepped forward and picked up the paper, glancing at Jack before skimming the message printed on it. The blond man cursed, and Jack snatched the paper from him, reading what it had to say.

 _Your first challenge is an easy one. A bite must be taken from each of the two burgers in the previous room. A taste-test, if you will. The catch: one burger is laced with a relatively slow-acting paralytic. Problematic, but not ultimately harmful. The reward: You may have 60 seconds to speak to your grand prize. Or, you may choose not to take the chance and continue on to the next choice._

"I'm getting _Princess Bride_ vibes; is that just me?" Jack raised an eyebrow at his partner. Mac gave a scoff of laughter, shooting Jack a grateful—though stressed—look.

"No," he said at last. "It's not just you."

"Well, c'mon, then," Jack nodded towards the door they just came through.

"Jack, I..." Mac trailed off, a conflicted expression on his face. "I don't know that this is such a good idea."

Jack sighed and stepped closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, dropping his voice to something just above a whisper when he spoke.

"Look, Mac, at this point we aren't even sure that Boze is alive," he said quietly, doing his best to hold Mac's eyes. "And he probably doesn't know for sure that we're here to get him. You both need to hear each other if we're gonna get through this."

"But if I go down, we lose," Mac argued.

"Okay," Jack nodded. "Then we do everything we can do to make sure you don't go down."

"But how am I gonna get you through this place if you go down?" the blond man challenged.

"One problem at a time, Mac," Jack shook his head, and without waiting for his partner to agree, he walked back into the previous room. Mac blinked in surprise.

"Jack," the younger man tried to call him back, but Jack strode purposefully back to the table and picked up the burger labeled 'straight.' Mac's eyes went wide.

"Jack stop!" Mac jolted into motion, trying to get to his partner's side, but before he could get there, Jack took a bite and put the burger back on the table. Mac stared at him in shock and horror as he chewed and swallowed.

"Jack what did you just do?" Mac demanded, horrified.

"What?" Jack gave him a look. "It tastes fine. I figure, this direction was the wrong one, so this was probably the one that was laced. Now are you gonna let my sacrifice be in vain, or what?"

Mac scoffed, shaking his head, then looked down at the other burger. He hesitated for just a moment, then picked it up, bringing it up towards his mouth. Before he could take a bite, though, Jack spoke again.

"But, y'know..." Mac paused as Jack's brow furrowed in thought. "I could be wrong, so..."

The former Delta reached out and snatched the burger from his partner's hands, not giving him any time to react before he took a bite.

"Jack, no!" Mac protested, but it was too late. Jack tossed the burger back onto its plate and swallowed, giving his partner a slightly mustard-stained grin.

"God, Jack, that was stupid," Mac let out his breath, glaring halfheartedly at him.

"Hey, Murdoc never said we each had to take a bite," Jack pointed out. "You said it yourself, Mac: if you go down, we lose. So I made sure you wouldn't go down. Now c'mon; let's go claim our prize."

Mac watched as his partner turned and walked back into the other room. After a moment, he let out a sigh and grudgingly followed.

"So how do we know when our time starts?" Jack asked, looking around curiously. Mac opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it again when they suddenly heard the sound of trembling breaths fill the room, broken up by occasional whimpers and moans.

"Boze?" Mac spoke up, his tone almost tentative. The breathing hitched, and after a second or two, they heard their missing friend's scratchy voice.

"Mac?" Bozer's voice sounded broken and weak.

"Boze, yeah, hey; it's me and Jack," Mac did his best to steady his own voice. "Look, we don't have a lot of time; are you alright?"

"Hurts," Bozer managed, a pitiful, painful sound. If strangling him didn't cause that vocal damage, the screaming sure did. Mac let out a shaky breath.

"I know," he said quietly, trying to steady his voice. "I know it hurts, Boze; I'm sorry. We're gonna get you out of there, man; I promise. Can you tell me anything about where you are?"

"Cold," Boze hissed breathlessly, and for the first time, Mac picked up on his chattering teeth. "So...so cold..."

"Can you see anything that might tell us where we are?" the blond agent pressed.

"N-no..." Bozer denied, his hoarse voice cracking at every turn. "N-no...w-windows...I can't...can't m-move...hurts..."

"Okay, okay," Mac did his best to make his voice soothing. "It's okay, Boze. You don't have to move. We're coming for you, okay? We're here, and we're gonna get you out. Just hang on, okay? Can you do that?"

"Mac...hurts..." they could hear their friend crying just slightly. "S-so co—"

The feed cut off, then, and Mac looked at Jack with panic barely contained in his eyes. His partner stared back at him sympathetically.

"Sixty seconds," he said with a helpless shrug. "I counted."

Mac let out a slow breath, his eyes falling shut as he clasped his hands behind his neck, letting them hang there.

"Mac, I know you're upset, okay; I am, too, but we gotta go, man," Jack prompted, and Mac gave a hesitant nod, swallowing hard and dropping his hands. Jack nodded at him, then turned and led the way into the next room. They were somewhat dismayed to find that it looked nearly identical to the first two, with the door on their left this time and the TV screen mounted to the wall straight ahead.

"Son of a bitch," Jack grumbled, and moments later, the screen came to life. They could already hear Bozer whimpering and gasping, but they couldn't see him yet. The imaginary audience applauded loudly before eventually dying down. Murdoc grinned at the camera.

"Welcome back, everyone," the assassin said pleasantly. "It looks like our special guests made it through the first challenge!"

The audience applauded. Mac grit his teeth.

"Now, unfortunately we're going to have to move smartly along, here," Murdoc continued. "Wouldn't want our grand prize to expire before it even gets to its final location."

He laughed, then, and the fake audience laughed with him. The camera panned out, and Mac had to turn away, clamping a hand over his mouth. Murdoc's apron was spattered grotesquely with blood—not drenched in it, but stained. The knife in his hand was coated in crimson. But it was the sight of his best friend that made his stomach roll and pitch fitfully.

Bozer was crying quietly and trembling visibly. There was a long gash down the middle of his abdomen, and Murdoc had pried the flesh and muscle apart with a crank-operated metal spreader. His skin was shining with sweat. His eyes were shut, and a mixture of terror and pain lined his face. Jack reached out and put a hand on his partner's shoulder, still watching the screen for Mac's sake, squashing his own feelings so that Mac didn't have to look.

"Because of the slight time crunch, the remaining challenges will have a clock to beat," Murdoc continued. Jack felt, rather than heard, his partner let out a shuddering breath.

"But enough of that," the killer waved the knife in his hand dismissively. "Let's get on with the show. I'm sure Wilt is getting tired of the anticipation. Right, Wilt?"

He patted Bozer's face gently, smearing some blood on his cheek. The young agent choked out a pitiful whimper, his eyes squeezing shut hard as he craned his neck away from the touch. Jack could see the blood on his neck, now, and Murdoc chuckled.

"Our prize doesn't seem too talkative right now," he said, returning his eyes to the camera. "But I'll take that as a 'yes.' Full steam ahead!"

Once again, the assassin's eyes flicked downward towards their wounded friend, and Bozer started breathing faster.

"Oh, calm down, Wilt," Murdoc rolled his eyes. "There are only four more tests. Not all of them will be bad; did you know that not all of your internal organs feel pain at the same level? More hollow organs like the intestines and bladder have far more nerve endings than solid organs like the liver and spleen."

A cold smile split the older man's face, sending ice through Jack's veins.

"Let's see if your bestie can tell the difference by the sound you make."

That damned audience whooped and cheered at the suggestion, and Bozer's eyes opened at last. The deep, intense terror Jack saw in them felt like a gut punch from Mike Tyson. Still, the captive didn't look at the camera, and instead said something that neither agent could make out over the applause track. Whatever was said, Murdoc smiled, patted Bozer on the shoulder almost pityingly, and turned his attention to his victim's pried-open abdominal cavity. The young agent's eyes slammed shut again, and as Murdoc lifted the knife, the screen faded to black. A heartbeat later, the screaming began, echoing in the room.

Mac instantly reached up and latched onto Jack's arm, his eyes pinned closed and his teeth grinding together until the sound finally, mercifully faded. Only then did Mac finally open his eyes and release the tension in his body. He let out his breath, and Jack tried to catch his eyes.

"Mac, you good?" the older man asked quietly. Mac nodded, straightening up and taking another deep breath.

"C'mon."

Mac's voice was calm and even when he spoke, even though the confidence didn't reach his eyes, but when he turned and started walking for the door, Jack followed, not questioning him for a moment.

Their next room was much like the last choice room: There was a table in front of them, two plates on its surface, labeled 'right' and 'left,' corresponding to the two doors on the walls on the sides of the room. The dish looked like sheep or cow's intestines—except they knew that one of those plates originated from their friend. Mac looked at Jack with wide eyes.

"I don't care what the prize is; we're not eating this," he said quietly, seriousness in his expression.

"No arguments here," Jack nodded. Mac turned back to the table and studied the two plates. Like before, they looked nearly identical. Which meant that there was only one way to tell which was which.

Letting out a weary sigh, Mac picked up the plate on the right and lifted it tentatively towards his face, inspecting it carefully before sniffing it quickly. The smell brought him right back to that night. Salty, almost vinegar-like under the coppery tang of blood. He wanted to just take that and run with it, but just to be sure, he picked up the other plate and took a quick whiff. It smelled similar, but something about it was...off. The acidity was not nearly strong enough. Mac put the plate down, then looked back at his partner, jerking his head towards the right hand door.

"Let's go."

Jack followed without a word as Mac started for the door. When the pair stepped into the next room, the first thing that hit them was the heat. The room was boiling hot. It was small, with one door on the opposite side of the room. On the right side of the room was a table and another sheet of paper, and on the left was a large, makeshift barbecue grill, reminiscent of the one Mac had assembled for Boze around Christmas. Except this one was overheating. This one looked ready to explode.

"You fix that," Jack said evenly, shoving his partner's knife into his hand and heading towards the right. "I'll read Murdoc's little love note."

Mac didn't argue, quickly making his way towards the growling, shaking abomination to their left. He used the hem of his shirt to protect his hand as he opened it up. As he started examining the inner mechanics, Jack started reading out loud.

"'Your next challenge could have explosive consequences,'" he quoted, then scoffed. "Cute. 'Your reward will be another chance to talk to your prize for sixty more seconds. The physical aspect of this challenge should be a walk in the park for you, Mac, so the real test is to tell me what is missing from the following list before either you disarm the grill, or the grill dispatches you.'"

"What's the list?" Mac asked, trying to locate the regulator on the grill, one hand on his twinging bruised and broken ribs as he bent down. Clearly the pain meds he'd taken in preparation for his 'exam' were wearing off. Still, he barely registered that he'd even touched them; whatever Murdoc claimed in his note, this wasn't a straightforward fix. He couldn't simply turn the machine off; Murdoc had broken the controls, and he couldn't see a gas source. It looked like it might be hidden in the wall behind the machine, but the grill was bolted in place, not allowing Mac much of a look. Of course, he could just break the wall—it wasn't concrete, just sheetrock—but that would take time that it didn't look like they had.

"Let's see...We've got coarse kosher salt, coarse black pepper, coriander, garlic, paprika, brown sugar, cayenne pepper, cloves, onion powder, and ground ginger."

"It's Boze's pastrami recipe," Mac replied distractedly, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist, already feeling the sweat start to bead up. Wracking his brain to try and find what was missing while also trying to stop the grill from going supernova with them in the room was no small task.

"Mac, if you say the missing ingredient, we get to bypass fixing that monstrosity," Jack reminded his partner.

"Yeah, I know, Jack," Mac sighed irritably, reaching out to try and jimmy open the belly of the beast before him, using his t-shirt to try and protect his hand. "I'm thinking; give me a minute. And if I can't remember, then we're much better off if I make some progress, here."

"What do you mean, you can't remember?" Jack asked incredulously, and Mac ripped his hand back, the fabric of his shirt not quite enough to protect it. But hey, the panel was open, now. "You've been friends with him since you were a kid; how do you not remember?"

"I never said I don't remember," Mac tried to control his irritation, shaking out his singed hand. "But I also didn't help make it when I was a kid, and I didn't help make it last Christmas. I might not have done it Christmas before last, either; I can't say for sure. Either way, I never actually handled the secret ingredient."

"But you saw what it was, right?" Jack pressed.

"Probably; give me a minute," Mac repeated, fighting to keep from snapping at him. He took a deep breath, wiping at his face with the hem of his shirt.

"Read me that list again."

Jack repeated the list slowly, and Mac pictured each ingredient on their kitchen counter as Bozer went about preparing the meal. When his partner got to the end, the blond man closed his eyes, trying to recall what else had been spread out on the counter. After a good thirty seconds, during which time the room got hotter still, Mac opened his eyes and looked up at Jack.

"The juice of one star fruit," he stated, loud enough for the microphones Murdoc undoubtedly placed to hear him. In response, the door on the far side of the room gave a buzz and a click, like they were being buzzed into an apartment building, and the monstrous grill, which had been shaking and groaning, went silent as the gas supply was cut. Jack helped Mac to his feet, both of them wincing with the effort, and hurried towards the door. The handle turned easily in Jack's hand, and the pair stepped into a dingy hallway.

"We shoulda been makin' a map this whole time," Jack grumbled. Mac scoffed in agreement, and then they heard a metallic click overhead, followed by shaking, trembling breaths broken up by whimpers and accented with chattering teeth.

"Boze?" Mac said hesitantly.

"M-Mac..." Bozer stammered. "I-I'm...sorry..."

"For what?" Mac asked, doing his best to remain calm.

"S-Sofía..." their missing friend gasped, choking on a sob. "I...I h-handed her t-to him...He k-killed her bec-cause of m-me...I'm so sorry..."

"No, Boze, Sofía is fine," Jack broke in. "He didn't hurt her. She's alive."

"What?" they could barely hear their friend over his own chattering teeth. "But I-I s-saw him..."

"Boze, I swear, he didn't hurt Sofía," Mac promised. "Hell, apparently, she thinks he's nice."

Bozer scoffed out something close to a laugh at that. Then they heard another whimper. "I d-don't w-wanna die h-here, Mac..."

"Hey, Boze, you listen to me," Jack was the one to speak, one look at his partner telling him that the younger man couldn't form the words. "You're not gonna die here. We're close; we're gonna get you out, okay? I promise, we're gonna get you out of here."

They waited for a response, but they heard nothing. It took the pair a moment to realize that they'd been cut off from talking to their friend.

"C'mon," Jack didn't give Mac time to dwell on their conversation, forging ahead down the narrow passage as Mac, grateful for the direction, scrambled after him. Jack grabbed the door handle, started to turn it...only to have it slip right out of his grip. The former Delta frowned at his hand, glaring as though it had betrayed him, as Mac felt icy dread settle in his veins.

Jack didn't look at him, trying again, and this time, he was able to push the door open and step into the next room. His partner only hesitated a moment before following.

Neither agent was the least bit surprised at this point to see that this room was nearly identical to the other two rooms in which they'd begun each round. This time the next door was on their left and the TV was in front of them. The screen dutifully came to life as soon as the door closed behind them.

Murdoc was smiling again, with the audience applauding, looking even more chipper, more relaxed, than he had when they first began. Realizing this, Mac felt his jaw tighten, suddenly more furious than devastated.

 _Smile all you want, you sick son of a bitch,_ Mac thought as he carefully corralled his anguish. _I'll make sure you regret every second._

"Welcome back, everyone," Murdoc said cheerfully, and Mac let his anger build—it was the only thing that made his mind clear, and he wanted desperately to maintain his newfound control.

"Our friends have succeeded yet again," the assassin pressed on, causing the audience to cheer. They could hear Bozer gasping for breath in the background, as they had before the previous task. The camera panned out again, and Mac forced himself not to look away, just focus on a different part of the screen. Boze was drenched in sweat, now, trembling violently, unable to even somewhat contain his fear. "An impressive win streak for sure, but can they keep it up, especially when one of them is on his way down?"

Mac shot his eyes over to Jack, analyzing him. He was a little flushed, but he didn't appear to be showing any major signs of deterioration. At least, not yet. The blond man turned back to the screen.

"We shall see," Murdoc chuckled. He clapped a gloved, bloody hand on Bozer's shoulder, and their friend visibly jumped, only to let out a pitiful sound, a mix of agony and anguish. His torturer just chuckled at him.

"I think our prize is getting tired," false sympathy dripped from the assassin's words. "We'd better keep going; wouldn't want him falling asleep, now, would we?"

The audience cheered loudly, and Mac's jaw tightened. Murdoc grinned at the camera, but the two agents' attention turned to Bozer's face. Their friend had finally opened his eyes, if only half way, and for the first time, he looked at the camera—at them. The look on his face was chilling. It was like he was begging them to save him...and yet, preemptively forgiving them if they couldn't. It made Mac's stomach pitch fitfully.

Murdoc laughed again, and Mac reluctantly focused back on him.

"Don't worry, Wilt." His tone was anything but reassuring. "After this, you're half way there."

Boze didn't seem to take much comfort in that. The audience cheered again, and as Murdoc once more brought the knife towards their friend, the screen again faded to black. The screaming started a few seconds later, and despite knowing it was coming and bracing for it, Mac still jumped.

"Mac," the blond man's partner got his attention after a few seconds of silence. There was concern in his expression. "You ready?"

Mac knew he didn't have much of a choice in his answer; Boze didn't have time for him to get ready. The younger man nodded, and then the two of them were walking through the next door.

Just like every other choice, they were met with a table and two plates, each labeled with a direction corresponding to the doors in front of and to the right of them. But, unlike the last time, the dish with which they were presented was actually cooked and prepared. Before him were two small portions of liver and onions, each with a side of peas and carrots and another side of fries. A small white dish off to the side of each plate held what looked like a sauce of some kind.

Not wanting to get much closer to the liver, Mac picked up one of the small sauce dishes, hoping that would give him his answer. After all, cooking the liver would have destroyed the scent Murdoc had been so keen on making him remember—right?

The younger agent glanced back at his partner, who had taken to leaning against the wall while he waited, trying to be casual about it but very clearly starting to struggle. The thought of what would happen when Jack just couldn't go on anymore was terrifying. What was he going to do? Just drag Jack through the rest of the exam? Would he be able to move fast enough like that? Mac could feel his sense of control slipping and he quickly shook his head, bringing the dish in his hand up to his nose and sniffing it cautiously. It smelled like steak sauce more than anything else. Putting that dish down, he picked up the one beside it, and, as before, sniffed its contents. This time, Mac felt himself get shot back in time to that night in the lumber mill, hearing Drew screaming just a few feet away from him. The blond man quickly forced the image from his mind and put the dish down, turning back to Jack.

"You ready?" he asked, studying the former Delta, reading the involuntary relaxing of his body language, the barely-contained distress on his face, and knowing that the paralytic was rearing its head.

"Yeah," Jack replied without hesitation, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards him, the movement taking a bit more effort than usual. "Let's go."

His words were still as clear as they ever were, which was a good sign. Not wanting to push their luck, Mac quickly led the way through the door to the right of the table. The second they crossed the threshold, they froze.

The pair was standing in a near-exact replica of Mac's living room and kitchen, as though they'd just entered through the deck. There were appliances lining the counter that divided the two spaces—toaster, blender, food processor, salad shooter—some of which could be found in the MacGyver kitchen, some of which could not.

"Okay, what the hell?" Jack grumbled, looking around in confusion. As if the words were some kind of trigger, the room suddenly came to life. All of the appliances turned on; the lamps began spinning, whipping their cords around violently; the doors of the refrigerator began banging open and shut wildly, threatening to take a bite out of anyone who came close enough; and the toaster even launched a fork and knife in their direction, missing them by inches.

"Jesus—!" Jack grabbed a cushion off the couch with surprising speed, holding it in front of them as Mac fell into step behind him, barely managing to block the prongs of an aggressive power cord from taking out his eye. "What the fuck is this?!"

Mac didn't answer for a second, trying to recover from the shock. Then it hit him— almost literally, and now that he knew the lamp's range, he stepped just outside it.

"It's one of Boze's movie scripts!" He had to shout to be heard over noise as more items were hurled their way. "The final scene! The cannibal witch doctor has a machine on the roof that's making zombies and we have to turn it off!"

"What in the actual _hell_ did you just say?!" Jack shot him a look over his shoulder.

"It's a long story; point is, Boze wrote the script!"

"Well, do you remember how we're supposed to get through it?"

Mac hesitated, thinking about the script his roommate had had him read. He was about to confirm that, yes, he remembered exactly how it ended, but he paused.

"I don't know," he admitted finally.

"Brother, you're gonna have to do better than 'I don't know.'" Jack gave him a look, deflecting a butcher knife launched towards them by the food processor as they crouched behind the cushion.

"He gave me the latest rewrite on 200K Tree Day," Mac explained. "I said I'd read it once we got back, but obviously, we got busy!"

"Okay, but if you didn't read it, what are the chances Murdoc has read it?" Jack asked.

"Knowing him, pretty high," Mac scoffed. "But we don't have a choice; I don't know another ending!"

"Okay, so how do we get through this?" Jack pressed. "How does the story end?"

Mac took a chance and peered around the cushion, studying the kitchen wall, near the window above the sink. Sure enough, there it was, a double-throw knife switch that would have been at home in Frankenstein's laboratory. "There's a switch over by the sink," Mac told him. "Can't miss it. Let's go!"

If what he remembered was correct, all they had to do was forge a path through an incredibly unlikely assortment of semi-sentient, attacking technology in order to throw the master switch and cut off the living electricity just in the nick of time. Of all of his roommate's scripts, this one had been one of the less plausible climaxes, and given Bozer's love of theatrics, that was really saying something.

Together, Jack leading the charge, the pair of them started making their way through the chaos. Jack did an admirable job of using the oversized cushion as a shield, and they were half way to the kitchen before Mac remembered one of the few effects he'd actually been looking forward to creating for his best friend.

Without even trying to shout over the cacophony of noise, he simply grabbed Jack's shoulders and bodily hauled him back, just as the TV they were passing exploded outward. It wasn't too violent of a blast, but the cushion wasn't large enough to spare Mac a superficial slice on the thigh. He barely noticed; he was too busy catching Jack, whom he'd knocked more off balance than he'd anticipated. The older agent actually fell back onto his butt, and a whipping power cord managed to wrap itself around his ankle. Jack tried to shake it off, but the damned thing wouldn't let go, and whatever servo was powering the spinning floor lamp seemed to have more than enough horsepower to keep steadily growing pressure on his ankle.

"How is it even _doing_ that?!" Jack demanded, moments before it managed to actually pull him several inches toward itself. Mac still had hands on him, trying to haul him back towards the relative safety of the main path, and he could feel the faint fatigue tremor in Jack's frame, the weakening in his core muscles. After a few seconds of tug of war, Jack waved him off.

"Fuck it; just hit the switch!" Jack demanded. Mac gave a short nod, hunting around his pocket before pressing his swiss army knife into Jack's right hand. His partner nodded to show that he understood, and surrendered the couch cushion shield in return. Mac took Jack's position, now protecting him as he clumsily freed up the saw blade and started trying to hack through the ever-tightening cord. As soon as Mac was certain Jack still had the coordination and strength to get himself free, he focused on the switch.

It was located right where he remembered, on the wall to the left of the sink, where a barbecue fork was flailing dangerously in the disposal. Several of the other appliances on the island pass-through were also active, flinging common kitchen objects in a seemingly random pattern. They were clearly mechanically attached to the counter in some way, so he wasn't going to be able to just grab a broom or throw a book and knock them off.

Though Mac didn't hear any water running, and the sink faucet wasn't active, there was a clear liquid sheen to the linoleum in front of the fridge, telling him water was pooled there. Doubtlessly that water had current flowing into it—or it very easily could. He didn't have time to disarm the appliances one at a time, so Mac studied the pattern of the appliances instead, until he finally saw the rhythm to it.

Once he had it down, he tried to make a run for it. Bypass the fridge door, slide ass-first onto the counter behind the salad shooter, from there he could stand and hop the width of the kitchen to the wall by the stove and throw the switch. The odds of the stove coming to life were pretty high, so he'd need the couch cushion to take the heat for just a few seconds.

The plan failed on the first step, when the fridge door broke pattern and slammed violently open, the handle hitting the blond man right in his cracked ribs, and Mac went down _just_ shy of the puddled water, gasping and coughing. He barely had the presence of mind to deflect the various bits of cutlery that were flying his way. It was all he could do to breathe.

Mentally, Mac upgraded 'cracked' to 'broken.'

"You good?" Jack shouted, still trying to saw through the ever-tightening lamp cord. Mac took a second to wonder if he needed to upgrade Jack's ankle to 'broken' as well.

"Yeah," Mac confirmed as loudly as he could, rolling fully out of range of the suddenly more intelligent fridge doors and pushing himself up. Jack finally severed the last of the lamp power cord and wordlessly slid Mac's knife, still open, across the floor. Mac grabbed it and jammed it blade-first into the hinge gap of the still flailing fridge door, effectively reducing the door's range of motion by sixty degrees. Now that he was beside it, he could see that the puddle of water didn't extend much beyond the front of the fridge, as though it had defrosted itself.

Not unlike the puddle he'd found waiting for him the day Murdoc had sent his two goons to taze him and kidnap him from his own home. The one Bozer had so proudly thought he'd fixed.

There was indeed a wire connected to the puddle, coming from somewhere underneath the still-struggling fridge, and Mac used the cushion to protect himself from the suddenly far more accurate projectiles and hopped the electrified water.

The microwave over the stove exploded outward, as he knew it would, but it was more light than anything else, and Mac charged the stove, which was in the process of flaming to life. He slammed the cushion onto the gas burners, effectively suffocating them, and grabbed one of the heavy wooden cutting boards off the counter, using it to temporarily block the toaster from stabbing him with the forks and knives bristling from the toast slots. He darted for the switch as the barbecue fork completed a lap in the growling garbage disposal and grabbed the lever, yanking it down.

All at once, the kitchen became quiet, and Mac took a step back, gasping for breath. Once he was sure nothing was about to come back to life, he again hopped the puddle—no point in taking unnecessary chances—and worked his swiss army knife out of the refrigerator doorframe before quickly and carefully making his way back over to Jack. This time, Mac was the one to ask if he was alright.

"I'm fine," Jack assured him, but his words made Mac stiffen. They were slurred—not overtly so, but noticeable, like he'd had a few drinks already. Jack noticed his expression and frowned.

"I am _fine_ , Mac," he repeated, working hard to enunciate. With his partner's help, he got himself back to his unsteady feet, and before Mac could say another word, he started walking for the exit. He was limping, but not excessively so, and the younger agent quickly caught up. After exchanging a look, they walked into the next room together.

"Oh, for th' loveuv Christ..." Jack grumbled upon stepping inside. Just as before, this room was nearly identical to the other three rooms in which they'd begun each round. Only this time, their next door was on the right, and the TV was straight ahead.

The screen came to life almost as soon as Mac followed his partner into the room. The audience was cheering, and Murdoc was grinning. Again, they could hear Bozer gasping, groaning, and whimpering under all the noise.

"And what a win streak that was," Murdoc chuckled. "But, all good things must come to an end."

Mac jolted as Murdoc beamed into the camera. All good things must come to an end? Meaning that the winning streak had come to an end.

He hadn't passed the challenge.

The why was easy enough to guess—clearly Bozer had made a change to the script and getting past all the defenses to manually flip the switch was no longer the scripted solution their hero had executed to stop the bad guy. That wasn't what bothered him.

It was the how. How could Murdoc have known they would fail? This footage couldn't possibly be live; from their conversations with Boze, their friend had to be in early stage 2 hypothermia. Even if Murdoc was freezing him between every challenge, he would be warming up during filming, and wouldn't be past stage 1 yet. And besides that, they would have seen some evidence on screen of the freezing, but as the camera panned out, Mac could see no evidence of cold in their friend. There were no cuts in these scenes, indicating a different take for each challenge outcome, that he could tell. So how could he have known?

Unless he knew that Mac hadn't read the rewrite. And had known or guessed that he'd follow the script he _had_ read over figuring out his own solution to the problem.

The blond man blinked and forced his attention back to the screen. It didn't matter; rigged or not, he lost. All he could do about it was keep going.

"Hopefully for our prize's sake…" Murdoc put a hand on Bozer's shoulder, near the base of his bruised neck, and started kneading it, causing the young man, with his eyes still pinned shut, to whimper and moan as he tried to crane his head away, tears spilling down his nose, "our heroes can pick up the pace. Although, one of them may have a difficult choice to make soon..."

The audience erupted into a chorus of intrigued _ooh_ s, and Murdoc looked almost giddy. Mac's jaw tightened, and he dropped his head for a moment before he looked over at Jack. His partner was again leaning against the wall, much more heavily than last time, and looked like he was trying hard to seem up for this. His arms were folded loosely, unable to make the position any tighter, and there was an uncomfortable expression on his slightly-frowning face.

 _He can't keep going._

The thought rose, unbidden, into Mac's mind, and he quickly shook his head, trying to whip it out of his skull. He couldn't think about that right now. He had to focus. He had to get through this.

"But for now, let's just keep moving," the psychopath continued. "We're in the home stretch!"

The audience cheered loudly, and Mac let out a shaky breath. Murdoc lifted the knife—its shine now dulled by the blood coating the metal—and, just as before, the screen faded to black before he brought it towards Bozer's abdomen. Not wanting to wait around this time, Mac quickly moved to the door, trying to tug it open, but it wouldn't give. The screaming started up again, making Mac cringe before anger flooded him. He yanked on the door handle, trying to get it open and just get on with it, but it didn't budge.

Only when the screams faded away did the door finally swing open. At that point, Mac just deflated, his shoulders sagging as he rested his forehead against the door. God, he was just so tired...

"Mac," Jack jolted him from his thoughts, and the blond agent turned to look at him. His partner looked like he was barely managing to stay upright, but the understanding in his expression was unmistakable.

"We gotta go."

Mac nodded, letting out a sigh, then stepped into the next room, holding the door for Jack as the older man shuffled in after him. The room looked exactly like every other choice room. This time, the doors were directly ahead and on their right.

The door closed behind them, and on the table in front of them were two homemade bottles of hot sauce. Mac knew he didn't have much time before Jack went down, and he wanted the two of them to get as far as they possibly could before he had to figure out how to drag his partner along, so he didn't waste time. He strode over to the table and picked up the bottle labeled 'straight,' taking off the cap and sniffing it. Almost immediately, he gagged and recoiled, putting the bottle back down. Blood from the colon was still one of the most stomach-churning things he'd ever encountered. There was no mistaking it, and for the sake of time, he didn't bother to check the other bottle, turning back to his partner.

"C'mon," he nodded towards the door opposite the table, and Jack started to move, but about half way there, he collapsed. Mac was at his side in an instant, rolling him onto his back.

"Jack," his voice was urgent when he spoke, assessing the older man critically. Jack's body was almost totally relaxed, his eyes about three quarters of the way open, barely able to keep his head from rolling. "Jack, talk to me; can you move?"

"Li'l," Jack now sounded like he'd just finished a bar crawl. The blond agent beside him felt his jaw clench, desperation and borderline panic flaring in his chest. Jack met his eyes. "'M sorry..."

"Hey, no, don't be," Mac shook his head. "I'm gonna get you through this, okay? I'm not gonna leave you here."

"If I may interject," Murdoc's voice actually made Mac jump, coming from the PA system and seeming to surround him, "I have another solution."

"Whatever it is, the answer is no," Mac snapped, turning to glare at the camera in the corner over his shoulder. Murdoc chuckled in amusement as the younger agent pointedly turned his attention back to Jack.

"Oh, come on, Angus," the psychopath chided. "I only mean to help. Yes, Jack's paralysis was meant to be a second timer of sorts, but you're doing much better than I thought you would be. Jack or no Jack, you could potentially finish the exam before Wilt's time expires."

"So, what, you're suggesting that I leave him behind?" Mac scoffed, looking back at the camera again. "Not a chance."

"Oh I can assure you he'd be perfectly safe."

"Y'know, somehow, I don't believe you."

"Now, Angus," the assassin almost sounded hurt, "have I ever lied to you?"

"Yes!" Mac growled in exasperation.

"No, I haven't," annoyance crept into Murdoc's tone. "Misled you? Maybe. Not told you everything? Sure. But I have never told you anything that wasn't true, Angus. And I'm not about to start now. I promise you, Jack will be perfectly safe."

"If you honestly expect me to walk out of this room and let you lock me away from my partner, you're sadly mistaken," Mac growled, getting up and stalking towards the door he'd chosen. Just before he grabbed it, he heard a click, and when he tried the handle, it held fast. The blond man let out an angry breath, turning and glaring daggers at the camera.

"Let us out of here, Murdoc," he demanded. "You're interfering with your own game! _You're_ wasting time, not me! If I fail, it's on _you_ at this point!"

"Angus, you're being irrational," Murdoc scolded. "When you make an informed decision—one _not_ made out of stubborn spite—you may continue."

"Fine!" Mac snapped. "Say whatever you want to say; just say it quickly!"

"As I was saying earlier," the psychopath still sounded irritated, "if Jack is left in this room, he will be completely safe. Absolutely no harm will come to him. If you manage to finish the exam, I'll even let you come back for him. That is my offer—now, think about it, Angus. Really think."

Mac was quiet, looking between the camera, the door, and his partner. Jack was staring back at him, the expression in his eyes hard to decipher. It only took him a few seconds to decide.

"Fine," he agreed, looking at the camera furiously. "Fine; I'll leave him. Now open the door."

"Excellent choice," Murdoc approved, and the door behind the blond agent clicked as the lock released. Mac moved fast, throwing the door open and barely looking at what lay beyond it before kicking off one of his shoes. He pushed the door open as wide as he could, then jammed the shoe under it, holding it in place, and walked back over to Jack.

"I told you I wouldn't leave you," he said quietly as he grabbed Jack under his arms and started dragging him through the doorway.

"Now, Mac, that's cheating," Murdoc tried to sound disappointed, but there was amusement in his tone. By then, Mac managed to get Jack over the threshold and into the next room.

"Fuck you, Murdoc," Mac spat, before finally grabbing his shoe and slamming the door shut behind him. Letting out a breath, the blond man turned to his partner, who was staring up at him from the floor. His face was, obviously, totally relaxed, but Mac could have sworn he saw a glint of pride in his eyes.

"Let's not get too excited," Mac smirked, turning his attention to the room. "Who knows how he's gonna react to that."

He and his partner were in a small alcove before the space opened up onto what looked like a metal balcony overlooking the room below. Directly in front of him, there was a plastic bucket full of rubber ducks and a tennis racket. Across the room, there was a kiddie pool full of water. Mac frowned, then cautiously approached the bucket of ducks against the guard rail. Almost the instant he stepped fully out of cover, he heard a loud _bang_ and felt something slam into his side. Immediately, the blond man went down with a shout, yelping loudly and covering his already-broken ribs, just trying to breathe evenly.

Another loud noise, and something smacked against the metal mesh panel designed to stop anyone from falling down to the room below. Coughing, Mac scrambled across the floor towards the bucket of rubber ducks, sheltering next to it as projectiles continued to slam against the panel. Hunkered down there, he saw the object that hit him in the ribs. It was a beanbag round, the nonlethal ammunition cops fired from shotguns. No wonder he felt like he'd been shot.

Looking down, the blond man saw a piece of paper folded up and tucked slightly under the bucket, and he pulled it out, unfolding it.

 _Empty the whole bucket and tell me the rules._

Mac cursed to himself. There had to be hundreds of those stupid ducks in that bucket. And the rules? He and Boze had come up with dozens of sets of "rules" over the years, each tailored to the situation at hand. Which ones did Murdoc want?

With a groan of annoyance, the blond man grabbed the racket and one of the ducks. He may as well start with the damned ducks while he tried to sort it out. Taking a deep breath, he stood up to take his shot, ducking and dodging the beanbags that were being violently launched in his direction. He got through six ducks—all of which were terrible shots—before a beanbag finally caught him, right in the ribs. Mac yelped loudly, dropping the racket over the side as he collapsed behind the mesh grating. The blond agent tasted iron, and as he coughed desperately, one shaking hand over his ribs, blood spattered onto the floor, staining his lips and teeth.

Jack made an unintelligible noise, prompting Mac to look over at him. Even completely paralyzed, the older man still managed to look horrified, and the blond agent quickly wiped his lips and gave his partner a tight smile.

"I'm okay," he promised, carefully sitting against the mesh as beanbags continued to pound at it, trying to figure out his next move, his breaths coming in shallow, painful gasps. No more racket, so...what, did he have to throw the ducks? He couldn't go get the racket; it would waste time, and if he took any more hits to his ribs, he was out.

Irritation flared in the blond agent's chest, and with a low growl, he grabbed the entire bucket, turned to face the mesh grating, and tipped the bucket over the railing, holding the handle and watching the yellow ducks rain down to the floor. When it was empty, Mac hurled the bucket into the room below in frustration. He made eye contact with the camera off to his left and glared.

"The bucket is empty, and there are no damn rules!" he snapped angrily. For a moment, Mac thought it wouldn't work, but after a few seconds, the beanbags stopped firing, and the blond agent let out a breath of relief. He knew he wouldn't have much time, so Mac quickly made a move to stand up, only for him to draw a sharp, pained breath and start coughing again, covering his mouth with his sleeve and staining it red.

The younger agent stared at his partner in distress once the coughing subsided. He didn't know how he was going to get the both of them through this, not after that last rib shot. For a brief moment, he considered Murdoc's offer, but quickly dismissed the idea for all the reasons he had before, plus the fact that their captor had only guaranteed Jack's safety while he was in the last room; if Mac could get through this challenge on a technicality, Murdoc could use the same logic to hurt Jack.

Bozer didn't have time for him to think of a plan. He couldn't wait.

Without another moment of hesitation, Mac grabbed his discarded shoe, shoved his foot into it, and got to his feet, gritting his teeth all the while.

"Alright, big guy; this isn't gonna feel great for either of us, but we've gotta move," he told his partner, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him towards the stairs. Very carefully, ever-mindful of Jack's own busted ribs, the blond man dragged his partner down the steps, his body screaming with the effort. The second both of them reached the floor below, they heard a click followed by slow, even breathing. Mac felt his stomach lurch as he carefully set Jack down, trying to catch his breath.

"Boze?" he called, pausing to cough again, muffling the noise with his sleeve.

"Mac," his friend's voice was no longer shaking, instead sounding dreamy and far-away.

"Yeah, hey, Boze; it's me," Mac confirmed once he'd managed to control his coughing. He took a breath, then bent down and grabbed Jack again, continuing to drag him towards the next door as his voice became strained. "How're you doing?"

"Good," Bozer replied softly, his words slurring a bit. "Just...just tired, really..."

"Boze, listen, I need you to stay awake, okay? I'm almost there." Mac could hear the borderline panic in his own voice. His best friend was not holding up, and it was obvious that he didn't have much time. Bozer groaned softly, resettling before he spoke again.

"Don't."

Mac felt a chill run down his spine. "Don't what, Boze?"

"Don't come...after me," the missing agent clarified. "Jus...jus get Murdoc..."

"No, man, don't talk like that; I'm gonna get you out of there."

"It doesn' hurt..."

Mac paused, fresh pain and terror lighting up his face. After a few seconds, he swallowed hard and kept moving. "That's...That's not a good thing, Boze..."

"But it...it doesn' hurt..." Bozer insisted. "Jus get Murdoc...I'm okay..."

"No you're not, buddy, but I'm on my way; I promise. I'll get you out of there."

"It...it doesn' hurt anymore...Ma—"

The audio cut out, and Mac felt his heart clench in his chest. He took a short, ragged breath, then stopped at the bottom of the next set of steps, leading to their next door. After a moment of rest, he grabbed Jack once again and dragged him up the steps, grunting with the effort and making sure he didn't let his partner's damaged ribs bang against the stairs. Mac made pretty good time getting up to the landing and through the door.

Mac had been expecting to see a room like all the other introduction rooms, but what he got instead made him sick. Murdoc had led them to the kitchen set where he'd fileted Bozer. To the blond agent's left after he turned to look around was a camera and a set of empty seats for a studio audience. To his right, he saw the kitchen and, specifically, the rolling metal island that Bozer had been strapped to. The surface was still coated in blood, and Mac had to look away. A screen that had once been for the audience had been turned towards him, and it lit up shortly after he arrived.

Boze was not holding up very well. Mac could hear that fact well before he could see it, and Bozer's ashen, sweat-drenched skin, trembling body, and agonized expression only confirmed it. Murdoc, on the other hand, looked delighted.

"Welcome to the final round, everyone!" the assassin said cheerfully, and the imaginary audience applauded, hooting and hollering all the while. Mac grit his teeth, his stomach churning. What the hell was next? He'd already gone through everything Murdoc had made him smell that night, so what...?

"Our contestants have done an excellent job in getting this far, but how are they gonna hold up in the home stretch?" Murdoc raised his eyebrows, still grinning, and lifted the knife into view. "I'll bet Mac is wondering what else I could _possibly_ throw at him. I think he started to doze off at the end of his lesson. But that's no excuse, is it, folks?"

The fake audience gave a resounding _no_ , and Mac felt ice go through his veins.

"There's one...last...thing, isn't there, Mac?"

"No," the blond agent breathed, staring at the screen in utter horror. "No, no, no..."

Murdoc just chuckled and turned his attention to Bozer. He grabbed hold of his victim's jaw, and the younger man whimpered, carefully prying his tearful eyes open and staring up at him.

"You're going to want to hold still for this one, Wilt," Murdoc advised. Bozer's eyebrows twitched in confusion, but when Murdoc brought the knife up towards his face, hovering over his eye, Mac heard his best friend speak for the first time.

"No! No, no, please—please no," the young agent begged, his voice raw and cracking painfully, trying to turn his head as the unseen audience laughed and cheered in encouragement, urging Murdoc on. The assassin's grip on his jaw held firm, not allowing him to turn away. Mac stared in horror. This wasn't fair—Murdoc had taken Drew's eye, yes, but he'd never made him smell it. He'd held it under his nose, but Mac had never inhaled, and Murdoc knew that. He couldn't possibly pass this test; how could Murdoc expect him to know something like that?

"I said hold still, Wilt," Murdoc chastised, clearly enjoying himself as Bozer choked on his sobs. "This'll be over before you know it."

The screen faded to black as Bozer's begging and sobbing were almost drowned out by the manufactured cheers and applause of the crowd. When the screams started, they were the loudest yet, ripping the tortured agent's vocal cords apart almost audibly as they tore free of his throat. Screams of more than just pain—screams of pure, true terror. Mac nearly jumped out of his skin, a horrified, stricken expression on his face, and sprinted for the door. It unlocked just as he reached it, and the blond man just barely had the presence of mind to take off his shoe and jam it under the door to keep it open before rushing the rest of the way into the next room.

This room was not like the other choice rooms. Instead, the blond agent was faced with two large walk-in freezers—wide, but not deep, and not particularly tall, either—side by side on the wall in front of him, and an industrial washer and dryer on his left. The dryer was already going, with what looked like several blankets inside. In between the two freezers, placed very deliberately on the floor, was a cooler not unlike one would take to the beach with a note resting on top. Mac didn't let his uneasiness slow him down, instead running towards the cooler and snatching up the note.

 _Your choice and challenge are combined for this one. You can only open one door. Both doors are locked. Upon completion or failure of this task, your Phoenix friends will receive your location. In the correct freezer, I have also hidden a cell phone for your convenience. Good luck._

 _PS: If Wilt asks, give it to him. It's only fair, after all he's been through._

Mac blinked in confusion, then dropped the note and opened the cooler. Inside was a syringe full of a clear liquid.

Not even bothering to dwell on that for the time being, Mac went to the small window built into the door of the right hand freezer, looking inside. He saw someone lying on their side in the middle of the room, back to the door, a blanket draped over their body from the neck down, and a beanie obscuring their head. Looking into the freezer next door, he saw the same picture; neither body appeared to be moving at all, not shivering or even seeming to breathe, and neither had any distinguishing features visible. Their surroundings looked identical as well, though mirrored, with shelving off to the outside wall in both cases. Mac didn't know what it was he was supposed to be looking for.

The blond man took a step back, tangling his hands in his hair, looking back and forth between the two freezers. Clearly, Murdoc didn't expect him to smell anything, but the eye had to be significant.

Murdoc had taken Drew's right eye. But in the last video, the blade had been hovering over Bozer's left eye. Murdoc wasn't the type to do that by accident; so, which eye was the correct one? On the one hand, choosing Drew's eye was consistent with his 'homework,' as Murdoc put it. On the other, he was trying to save Bozer, so it would make sense to go with his direction.

It had to be left. That made the most sense. Questions from the homework rarely showed up word-for-word on the exam anyway. He wasn't trying to save Drew; he was trying to save Bozer, so left was his best bet.

With this decision made, Mac turned his full attention to the door. It was locked with a simple padlock; the test wasn't about getting the door open, so it wasn't complicated. Upon closer inspection of the doors, he couldn't see any sort of fail safe to make sure he only opened one, but that hardly meant it wasn't there.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Mac went back into the kitchen set and snatched up a discarded beer can he'd spotted earlier on the floor by the audience seats. Using his knife, he cut out a rectangular piece of the aluminum, and then cut an 'M' shape out of that. He then went back into the freezer room, wrapped his new tool around the post of the lock, inserted it into the body, and moved it back and forth until the lock popped open. The blond man quickly removed it and pulled on the door handle. The moment it released, he heard a loud _clang_ come from the right hand door. Mac assumed it was a secondary lock of some kind.

There was hardly time to worry about that, though; Mac quickly rushed into the freezer, not even feeling the cold, all his focus on the shape in the middle of the room.

"Boze!" he called desperately, skidding to a stop beside the form and grabbing its shoulder, rolling it over.

He had to stifle a gag.

The body at his feet wasn't Bozer. It was a white man, sixties, and he'd been dead for a while. There were ice crystals on his skin, and a bullet wound in his forehead.

"No..." Mac breathed in horror, feeling his throat get tight and tears well up in his eyes.

"Sorry, Angus," Murdoc's voice came over the intercom, sounding smug. "You should have paid more attention in class. Don't worry; I've already alerted Matilda to your location. Better luck next time."

Mac didn't say anything for a minute, tears silently falling down his cheeks as he stared down at the body. His breaths were short and shallow, but he didn't feel any pain from his broken ribs or punctured lung.

He failed.

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt rage, frustration, utter despair wash over him. With a guttural cry, he lashed out, kicking and slamming his fists against the wall to his right, the one it shared with the other freezer. After a few good hits, his own injuries forced him to stop, and the blond agent fell to his knees, coughing up blood again, this time not bothering to cover his mouth with his sleeve, not caring when it spattered on the floor and his lips. When he finally managed to switch from coughing to gasping, he let his head hang, crushing defeat settling on his shoulders. Without looking up, he pounded on the wall again, this time with much less force, absolutely devastated.

When he did, he blinked, then slowly looked up at it. He pressed his hand flat against the wall, then brought his other hand up and knocked on it. The sound reverberated through the metal unhindered. Grunting with the effort, he stood up, looking up at the top of the wall, then following the seam around, feeling it with his fingertips. Letting out a trembling breath, he turned and ran out of the freezer and back into the kitchen set.

"I know," he said when he caught his partner's eyes on him from the floor, hurrying into the kitchen and starting to throw open cabinets and drawers. Murdoc had meticulously cleaned the visible parts of the set, but he hadn't paid much attention to the inside; various kitchen odds and ends—cookie sheets, spoons, a colander—were scattered throughout the set. "I know; I know that sounded bad, and it was, but I can fix this. I know I can fix this; I just need..."

Mac nearly went limp with relief, feeling tears return to his eyes, when he saw a forgotten butane kitchen torch hidden behind a cupcake tin that had been shoved into a cabinet and subsequently forgotten. He quickly snatched it up, delighted to find that the canister of fuel was still almost full, and staggered back to his feet, looking over at Jack.

"I can fix this," he promised, unsure who he was trying to convince, holding the torch in both hands in front of his chest, clinging to it like a security blanket. He then quickly turned and went back to the only open freezer.

What the blond agent had noticed was this: the wall clanged like there was nothing on the other side of it except open freezer—no insulation, nothing. When he looked at the wall's seams, he saw that it had simply been soldered in place using short patches of solder. He figured that, while this place was still in use, a large freezer had been divided into a refrigerator and a freezer, and rather than waste money properly insulating—or even just properly welding the divider in place—those in charge chose to cut corners, and Mac thanked God they had.

The solder in question probably wasn't a high melting point variety, considering it was being used in a freezer, so the butane torch would be more than enough to melt it and get into the other freezer. Hey, Murdoc only said he couldn't open the other door; he didn't say Mac was forbidden from going into the other freezer.

The blond man wasted no time, turning the torch on and starting at the bottom of the left side of the divider. The five-inch-long strip of solder melted readily, and Mac smiled slightly, relieved that this was working. He made his way up and around the edge of the divider, melting away the solder as the metal creaked and groaned, separating itself from the walls and ceiling. When he was finally done, he took a deep breath, put the torch down, and shoved the wall with all his strength. It shifted, grinding against the built up ice, but after a couple more insistent shoves, it finally fell into the next room, knocking over a bit of shelving with it.

Mac clambered into the next room, slipping unsteadily over the wall, and rushed to his best friend's side, rolling him onto his back and checking for a pulse, ignoring his injuries for the time being. Boze was unconscious, but still shallowly breathing, and his pulse was relatively strong. Mac let out a sigh of relief.

"Boze, I'm so sorry," he breathed, grabbing his friend under his arms. "This is gonna hurt."

With this, he started dragging Bozer towards the other freezer, discovering at that point that, unlike the body next door, Boze had several layers of cardboard hidden under his body. Good thing, too; his blood had frozen his jeans and several parts of his skin to the cardboard, and if it had been frozen to the cold metal floor, it would have made pulling his friend out a much less pleasant experience.

By the time Mac managed to get his wounded friend out of the two freezers, he was wheezing and coughing again, but he didn't let himself slow down. He hustled over to the industrial dryer and grabbed all the warm blankets inside, draping them over Bozer's body in an attempt to warm him up. Once he was situated, Mac went back into the 'correct' freezer, searching for the phone he'd been promised. He found it hidden amongst the ice-covered bins lining the shelving and snatched it up, dialing Matty as he headed back to Bozer's side.

"Mac?" the director questioned en lieu of a greeting, sounding hopeful—though her agent could hear the note of tension in her voice.

"Yeah, Matty; it's me," Mac confirmed, kneeling down beside his best friend bundled up on the floor, putting his hand on the side of Bozer's face to feel how cold he was. The young man's skin was frigid, and Mac frowned in worry. "I've got Boze; he's alive, but he's freezing. He's going to need warm fluids and probably a blood transfusion. Jack's been paralyzed like I was. I'm not sure exactly what he's been given, but the effect is the same."

"We've got tac and medical on their way," Matty assured him. "And what about you? Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Mac promised, standing up with a bit of a groan and trudging back into the kitchen set, intent on bringing Jack into the same room as him and Bozer, no longer able to ignore his discomfort at having his partner out of his sight. "Punctured lung, I think, but no collapse; nothing a paramedic could do for me anyway."

He paused, pinning the cold phone to his ear with his shoulder as he bent down and started dragging Jack into the next room. "Do you guys know how to get in here?"

"Murdoc sent over a map of the building with the coordinates. I got two tac teams and a couple ambulances headed your way," Matty assured him. "They'll be there in thirty minutes."

"Make it less than that," Mac told her, groaning as he set Jack down next to Bozer, grabbing his phone before turning and coughing into his elbow. Without even looking at the growing bloodstain, he wiped at his mouth and turned back to Bozer, assessing him for the first time and grateful that most of his body was under the blankets.

His best friend's face was ashen, and the left side was bloody. His eye socket was swollen, not allowing him to see the extent of the damage. Once again, Mac was grateful.

The blond agent slid down against the right hand freezer door, putting the phone on speaker and letting it slip to the floor. His body relaxed almost involuntarily, his head falling back to clunk gently against the cold metal, absolutely spent. He left the line open, just letting himself take a moment to gather his thoughts. Jack wasn't moving, he was barely blinking, but his breathing was steady and didn't seem labored. Bozer was as stable as Mac could get him; the warmed blankets were doing him just as much good as sharing body heat would, and Murdoc had clearly been avoiding all of Bozer's major blood vessels. There was nothing to clamp off; in fact, the cold was probably helping keep his respiration and blood pressure down. It was a fine line of warming him enough to keep him alive, and not warming him so much that the bleeding got worse.

As the minutes ticked by, Bozer slowly started to come to, if only for a few seconds at a time. Before too long, he was shivering again, and Mac couldn't help but feel relieved.

After about twenty minutes had elapsed, with regular updates from Matty about paramedic and tac progress, Bozer came to and finally stayed that way, his eye showing his distress as he sluggishly looked around. His gaze fell on the cooler beside Mac, and he tried to reach for it, prompting Mac to reach out and stop him.

"Hey, Boze, just relax; we're almost out of here," Mac promised.

"I want it," Bozer breathed, almost too softly for his best friend to hear. "P-please..."

Mac remembered the note Murdoc had left him, and he hesitantly opened the cooler and drew out the syringe. Bozer once again reached for it, and Mac pulled it back.

"Boze, no," he denied, looking at his friend in concern. "We don't know what this is. Whatever he told you, we don't know what it is. I can't give it to you."

It was clear that Bozer was beyond grasping his best friend's words, continuing to reach for the syringe, muttering almost incoherently. It took Mac a moment to realize he was begging.

His heart breaking, the blond man put the syringe back in the cooler, at which point Bozer broke down into weak sobs. Mac tucked Bozer's trembling arm back under the blankets and squeezed his shoulder, trying to calm him down, but his best friend was inconsolable.

"Mac, tac's in the building," Matty informed him, clearly able to hear what was happening, and it wasn't more than a few seconds before Mac started hearing the sound of doors from somewhere deep in the building.

"They're almost here, Boze," Mac promised. "It's gonna be okay; just stay with me."

Bozer's head rolled on the floor, unable to find relief, and moments later, Mac heard a door in the kitchen set thrown open, followed by what sounded like a small army. They were moving fast and with purpose, and even before the first figure cleared the freezer room door, Mac heard someone calling his name.

"Mac?" the blond man recognized Simmons' voice immediately.

"Back here," Mac called back, as loudly as he could. Simmons, Jada, and Ramirez came in, followed by a team of paramedics with a gurney for each of them. The tac agents took up defensive positions, tagging all entrances and exits as well as the cameras, and the medics—a team Mac recognized from LAPDs tactical medical division—took one look and wordlessly divided themselves among the three wounded.

Mac didn't so much as twitch as a pair of young men descended on Bozer and him, but he did hold up a hand when the second guy seemed to be focusing more on him than his struggling best friend. "I'm stable, he's not."

He might as well have been arguing with Jack; the paramedic knelt beside him anyway and started taking his vitals. "How about you leave the triaging to us," the man suggested, not unkindly, and indicated the bloodstain on the interior of Mac's right elbow. "Can you estimate how frequently you're coughing up fluid?"

The paramedic was mostly successful in his examination—there was nothing to gain by arguing with him, after all—and Mac found himself rapidly loaded onto a gurney. After almost twenty-five minutes of staying generally still, Mac was taken by surprise at how weak he felt, and how much moving hurt. A second paramedic had joined the one treating Bozer, and Mac didn't miss how they carefully rearranged the blankets so that they were keeping Bozer as warm as possible while still exposing his abdomen. Between the gauze, the blankets, and the blood, Mac couldn't make out much, but from the agonized grimace on Bozer's face, he was definitely able to feel it.

It reminded him far too much of Drew's expression, particularly after he—

"Mac."

He tore his eyes from his struggling roommate to find Grant Simmons approaching, and the tac leader, apparently unknowingly, angled himself directly into his line of sight. "Was Murdoc here? Do you know where he went?"

"No," Mac replied shortly, craning his neck to peer around Simmons. The paramedic treating him took advantage and pressed a flexible oxygen mast to his nose and mouth, and Mac paused to glare at both of them. "Murdoc's not here, just wait—"

"No can do," Simmons answered, not unsympathetically, pacing Mac's gurney as it started as if by magic back towards the kitchen set. "Let these guys do their jobs, Mac."

He tried to sit up, but the paramedic towing him put a firm hand on his shoulder, and Simmons gave the guy a nod. "MacGyver, just stop." It was an order, however gentle. "A medical chopper just touched down in the parking lot. Boze is getting airlifted to General, and there's not enough room on the bird for tourists. You and Jack are taking ground transpo, and I've got a second team outside to give you an escort. I promise you, we'll take good care of him."

The idea of leaving Bozer behind stung more sharply than any pain in his chest, but Mac knew the other agent was right. The faster they got Bozer to medical care, the better. Unwillingly, he laid back down on the gurney, and got a glimpse of Jack, similarly strapped to a stretcher—though not struggling, even his eyes were closed—before he was wheeled back into the kitchen set, and Mac himself chose to close his eyes.

* * *

 **...Hi.**

 **Look I know it's been a while, but like...I really was writing (or trying to write) the whole time.**

 **But time for that later; first, read on, my lovelies.**


	8. Grading Day

"Thanks, Doc," Jack smiled charmingly at Doctor Parker as she removed the IV from his arm. Hovering casually by the door was Simmons, clearly waiting to bring Jack up to speed until after the good doctor left, so Jack kept the flirting to a minimum.

"Not a problem," Doctor Parker smiled back at him, taping a cotton ball over the former site of the IV. "You can sign your discharge papers at the front desk, and then you are free to go."

"Great," Jack grinned mischievously. "Bet you'll be sorry to see me go."

Simmons rolled his eyes, but Doctor Parker laughed good naturedly.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. Dalton," she ordered, turning to leave.

"Yes, ma'am," Jack agreed with a smirk, a look that he maintained until she was gone. The moment the door to his treatment room closed, Jack's expression became serious, and he turned to Simmons, getting out of his bed.

"Mac and Boze are out of surgery," the tac team leader told him, tossing him his clothes. "They're down the hall."

"How're they doing?" Jack asked, whipping the gown off—after all, he was still wearing his boxer briefs—and pulling his jeans and t-shirt on quickly before turning his attention to his boots. He was pleased to find that the movements were easy once again; his hands weren't shaking, and his body felt much closer to normal. Whatever had been in that IV bag, it had undone Murdoc's paralytic almost completely.

"Don't know," Simmons admitted. "I've been busy babysitting your ass."

Jack scoffed and tossed a half-hearted glare in his direction, and his colleague just smirked in reply. It wasn't that far from the truth; Simmons was clearly the agent that had been assigned to keep an eye on one Jack Wyatt Dalton, and he'd taken the job seriously. Near as Jack could tell, Simmons hadn't ever been more than ten yards from him since they'd gotten there. When he'd arrived, he could barely even swallow, let alone move, and Murdoc could have waltzed right into the hospital room and strangled him at his leisure. It was one of the most singularly unsettling feelings he'd ever experienced, and now he had even more of an appreciation of how Mac had felt in that warehouse, watching Murdoc's disturbing lesson. Why there'd been that fear in his eyes, when Jack had opened his own for the first time after Drew had shot him, and really gotten a look at his partner.

Murdoc wanted to make him feel helpless, and he'd done a fucking bang-up job. Jack wasn't going to admit it to Mac, not even on his deathbed, but being paralyzed, lying there listening to Mac take those hits from the shotgun beanbags, and then what came after—

Finding and making sure Mac was okay with his own two eyes was his only priority now, and as soon as he got his boots laced up, Jack was ready to go. Simmons held open the door, and the two of them made their way down the secured hallway to what Jack presumed was Mac and Bozer's room, based on the Phoenix agent parked outside. The former Delta was limping and his ankle throbbed; whatever they'd given him to counter the paralytic was definitely not a painkiller, but the damage to his ankle was minimal, just some bruising and a minor sprain. He'd be okay. Again, Simmons opened the door, and Jack entered to find Matty and Riley were already there, talking to Doctor Chang.

"Ah, Mr. Dalton, Mr. Simmons," Doctor Chang greeted them. "I was just updating Ms. Davis and Ms. Webber on your two colleagues."

"Don't stop on our account, Doc," Jack offered a stiff smile as he folded his arms. He dipped his head in the direction of his friends' beds, where Mac, on the right, and Bozer, closer to the window, were clearly still sleeping off the surgical anesthetic. "How are they?"

"Well, as I was saying," Doctor Chang sighed, "both of your colleagues made it through surgery with flying colors. Mr. MacGyver had two floating ribs and a punctured lung, but he should make a full recovery. Mr. Bozer, despite being a bit touch and go at the start, has a good chance at making a full recovery as well. Obviously, we'll need to do some tests when he wakes up, but his reflexes and scans look good. The, ah...dissection, while gruesome to look at, did not cause much internal damage. Honestly, it was like someone did a biopsy on a few organs; that's all. When he came in, I thought it would be much worse. Even his eye is intact; there are cuts around the socket that our plastic surgeon stitched up to minimize scarring, but no damage to the eyeball itself."

"Wait, so...he's gonna be fine?" Jack gawked. Bozer didn't exactly look fine; that entire half of his face was covered in gauze and tape, and given the tiny glance he'd gotten of Boze as the paramedics had lifted him onto his gurney—

"I can't say that for sure," Doctor Chang shook his head. "But I'm optimistic."

The group of agents blinked at the doctor in shock. It wasn't like Murdoc to let people go so relatively unscathed, especially since the psychopath was clearly emulating his earlier work with Drew. Doctor Chang, after supplying a few more minor updates, bid the group farewell and continued on his rounds.

"Okay, don't get me wrong; I'm thrilled that Boze is gonna be okay," Simmons began slowly, closing the door to shield them from any prying ears, "but this is weird, right?"

"Very," Matty nodded. "Especially since we got the analysis of that syringe back, the one from the cooler that Bozer was asking for. It contained a mixture of painkillers and barbiturates, which, together, would basically wipe out Bozer's memory of the past forty-eight hours."

"Shit," Jack breathed, looking at his friends pityingly. Mac looked much better than Boze; there wasn't a visible scratch on his face, just the oxygen mask, and Jack could only imagine the devastated look in his eyes when he found out that he'd denied Bozer the chance to forget what he went through. He was almost surprised when he felt a familiar bump against his shoulder, and Jack automatically put an arm around Riley, pulling her close and pressing his lips quickly to her temple. She'd been in his exam room earlier, getting the highlights and explaining with more than a few expletives that she didn't appreciate his silent dash out of the War Room, but he knew his girl needed that hug as much as he did.

They were damn lucky that Bozer was still alive. And Jack had a sinking feeling Murdoc had arranged it on purpose. Just like he'd called 9-1-1 to save him the night Drew shot him. Just like he'd paralyzed Mark Kyser without killing him.

"Begs the question, though," Simmons shrugged, as if reading Jack's mind, "what does Boze know that Murdoc wanted him to forget?"

"That is the question," Matty nodded, taking her ringing phone from her pocket. "But I doubt we'll get the answer tonight."

Director Webber answered the call, putting it on speaker. "Ramirez, what did you find?"

"If I may speak freely on the matter..." Ramirez began.

"Lack of permission never stopped you before," Matty scoffed, making the man on the other end of the call chuckle, though there was little humor in the sound.

"We got jack shit over here," the man reported. "We've searched the whole damn building and we've got nothing to tell us where Murdoc has gone, where he's been, or how in the hell he knew where Bozer would be before Bozer even knew it. Forensics is gonna see what they can come up with, but just looking, until we get an ID on that corpse in the freezer...there's nothing here."

"Dammit," Matty sighed. It wasn't anything Jack wasn't expecting to hear; he hadn't seen a single damn clue in the two-thirds of the rooms he managed to look through before he went down, but it was still disappointing.

"Well, you know it's not like Murdoc to make it easy," Simmons shrugged. As Ramirez continued walking Matty and a very quiet, contemplative Riley through the scene, Simmons' phone began ringing. Excusing himself and stepping away, the tac team leader answered it.

"Hello?"

"Finally," he heard Mark Kyser give a huff of irritation. "It's me. I—"

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, Doc?" Simmons interrupted with a raised eyebrow. It was just after two in the morning.

"Couldn't sleep," Kyser said dismissively. "Just too quiet, and I was too wired. And it's not like I can keep training for my marathon, now, can I?" The man scoffed in morbid laughter at his own comment before continuing, "I've been trying to reach someone for over ten minutes."

"Yeah, well, we're a little busy, Kyser," Simmons sighed. "We're all at the hospital with Mac and Bozer. Murdoc—"

"Yeah, Murdoc, I know; that's why I'm calling," Kyser interrupted, sounding irritated. "When I couldn't sleep, I made my way back to Phoenix, and I started going through the Murdoc evidence. Simmons, I...I think I finally found something."

* * *

Mac awoke from the surgical anesthesia around an hour after Kyser called, but after a quick exam from a nurse, he fell back asleep, utterly exhausted. He woke up again a mere three hours later, hearing people talking, and pried his eyelids apart, blinking at the light filtering in through the window.

"Hey, look at that," a familiar voice teased, and Mac looked over to see Jada standing by the door. "The boy genius lives."

Mac chuckled in amusement, closing his eyes for a second as he adjusted himself in his bed. He felt floaty and content, recognizing the unique euphoria of narcotics without really caring why they'd been administered, and why moving around might be inadvisable. "Hey, Jada."

"You look like shit, Mac," Bozer's hoarse, painful voice drew the blond man's attention, and he smiled when he saw his roommate awake. "And that's coming from someone who looks like the definition of shit."

"Thanks, Boze," Mac said with a small laugh, trying to ignore the growing sense of guilt that began to gnaw at him, now that he was conscious. "How're you feeling?"

"Eternally grateful to whoever invented morphine," Bozer replied with a smirk, his uncovered eye only half open. Mac laughed again, louder this time. He kind of expected it to hurt, but the pain was nicely muted, and he found himself in full agreement with his best friend.

"Same here, buddy."

"Well, your doctor thinks you're both going to be okay," Jada offered with a smile. "I'll let him give you a rundown when he gets here; I don't think I'd explain it as well as he could."

Mac nodded in understanding, and then his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked around the room. "Where is everybody?"

The three of them were the only ones there. Mac had at least expected that Jack couldn't be pried away from them until they woke up.

"Well..." Jada hesitated, as though debating filling them in. "Look, don't either of you get your hopes up, but Kyser called a few hours ago. He was going over the past Murdoc evidence, and...he _may_ have found something."

"Found what?" Mac jolted at the thought, feeling a myriad of emotions even the opiods couldn't buffer.

"I don't know," Jada admitted sympathetically. "Jack, Matty, and Simmons went to go check it out; they're going to update us when they can."

Mac deflated slightly, letting out his breath as he settled into his bed.

"Have you slept at _all_ , yet, Jada?" Bozer asked, sounding a bit loopy for obvious reasons. Jada chuckled.

"Not much," Jada admitted. "Matty and Simmons made sure we all grabbed at least a few hours after we got Mac and Jack back, though." She paused, then offered a devilish smirk. "Well, got them back the first time."

Bozer laughed, and Mac chuckled softly, and idly wondered how his roommate was able to speak so easily when his abdomen had been—

"But don't worry," Jada continued, effectively distracting Mac from more dangerous thoughts. "Another tac team is coming to relieve me and the guys securing this hallway soon, so we'll all get to go home for our government-mandated minimum eight hours of rest before we can come back. HR got a little antsy about the idea of me foregoing yet _another_ one of those, so I don't think they'll let me get around it."

"And they shouldn't," Mac scoffed, still smiling drowsily. "It's a wonder all of tac hasn't just straight up turned into zombies."

The three of them laughed, until they were interrupted by a soft knocking on the half-open door. Jada turned and pulled the door open—first just a crack, then about half way, allowing the visitor to get a look inside—only to be greeted by a nurse. She was young, in her mid-to-late-twenties, with her auburn hair pulled up into a bun, small pieces framing her freckled face. She had a tablet in her arm, and her ID badge was hanging around her neck.

"Oh," she sounded surprised, looking past Jada at Mac and Bozer. "You're both awake."

Jada checked the nurse's ID, as if that hadn't been done the moment she stepped off the elevator, then moved aside to let her in. The nurse gave a bit of a tense smile, then walked into the room.

"I'm Annie," the young woman continued, not meeting either patient's gaze as she went about updating their charts on her tablet. "A doctor will be coming by shortly; is there anything you need in the meantime?"

"No, I don't think so," Boze shook his head, his good eye falling drowsily shut.

"Okay," Annie's voice had a practiced cheerfulness to it. "Then I promise, I will be out of your hair as fast as I can."

As Mac idly watched her bustling around, a vague uneasiness settled over him, and he frowned inwardly, watching her. Her movements were efficient and controlled, but something about her...even in his drugged state, she felt off.

It seemed that Mac was not alone in his suspicions; by the door, Jada's body had tightened, and though she kept a neutral expression, the tac agent's hand moved to rest on her sidearm.

Throughout Annie's visit, as she continued moving back and forth between Mac and Bozer, checking IVs and verifying vital signs, she appeared to get more and more distressed, glancing back at Jada every few seconds. Mac and Jada exchanged glances as Bozer remained blissfully unaware. Finally, Annie finished her checks, but when it was around time for her to go, she stopped, standing at the foot of Mac's bed, gripping her tablet, her head down. Mac blinked at her, and realized after a moment that she was trembling.

"Annie?" Jada prompted cautiously, causing Bozer to open his eye. The nurse didn't reply. After about thirty seconds, she lifted her head and looked right at Mac. There were tears in her eyes, startling the blond man, and when she spoke, her voice trembled.

"You really pushed the limits in this exam, Angus," she said slowly, and Mac's eyes widened as adrenaline shocked him out of his morphine haze. In that instant, Jada drew her gun and aimed it at the young woman.

"Step away from the bed and put your hands in the air," she ordered, moving over to stand beside Mac and have a better angle on Annie.

"I think we can both agree that while you did succeed in saving Wilt, you didn't exactly follow the rules," Annie continued as if Jada hadn't spoken. She barely glanced at the woman pointing the gun at her, keeping her eyes on Mac.

"I said step away," Jada growled furiously. Finally, Annie shifted her eyes to her.

"This conversation doesn't concern you, Jada." A tear forged a path down the young nurse's cheek, and the terror in her eyes was evident. "And if you interrupt me again...I'll be paying a visit to Tim and lovely little Cora."

"What the fuck did you just say?" Jada paled slightly at the mention of her husband and new baby daughter, but Annie pressed on.

"They sure do like that park down the street from your house, don't they? Such a wonderful...predictable routine. I'm sure with Tim's martial arts background, he thinks he can keep her safe. Hubris is such a classic downfall, wouldn't you say?"

Jada didn't respond to that, her eyes wide but not lowering her weapon for a second, and Annie turned her teary eyes back to Mac, who, by that time, had realized what was happening.

"I absolutely did follow the rules," the blond agent argued, grasping for the last thing Murdoc had made the nurse say to him. "You said I could only open one door, and that's what I did. You never said I couldn't enter both freezers. And honestly, you didn't exactly leave clear enough instructions; my decision made sense given the information I had available."

"Hence why I'm not going to fail you for cheating," Annie's voice was shaking even harder now as tears began to fall more rapidly, staining her scrub top. "You can keep your prize, but you should know that this kind of behavior...will not be permitted going forward. I've been more than generous. I let little Sofía live. I went easy on your bestie."

"Went easy on me?" Bozer repeated quietly in disbelief while their nurse pressed on.

"The least you can do is follow the exam as intended and not make it through on loopholes."

As Annie was talking, Jada was glancing around, trying to find a way to alert her team unnoticed. Sure, there wasn't much they could do, but once they got the message, they'd check the cameras and see what was happening. They'd put two and two together, realize that Murdoc had to be nearby—although, she couldn't say that for certain. Still, any sign of trouble would put the building on lockdown, which, if nothing else, would make her feel a whole lot better about the situation. She let out a silent sigh of relief when the smartwatch on the inside of her wrist alerted her to a new text from Dixon, who was helping lock down the hallway outside.

 _Time to switch; new guys are here._

When prompted, Jada discretely used her opposite thumb to swipe up and flick through her preset replies, tapping to select the one that simply said "911."

"That being said," Annie was fighting to keep her sobs at bay, now, and not having much success, "as promised, I'm here to give you your final grade."

 _Copy. On our way._ Dixon's response was almost immediate. Jada put her focus back on Annie, well aware of how pale both Bozer and MacGyver had grown.

"You failed one challenge and one choice," the terrified young woman continued. "But even in my anger, Angus, I...I can't help but be impressed by your ingenuity. So, begrudgingly, I have to award points for style. That brings you to a C+. If you want to keep that GPA up, you're going to have to study harder. I won't allow for such loopholes in your next exam." The nurse was trying hard to put inflection in her tearful voice, probably mimicking Murdoc's, and Jada had to grind her teeth to keep from interrupting again.

"Got it," Mac dipped his head, swallowing hard. Obviously, he'd heard it too. "Now let her go, Murdoc. She did what you asked. Let her go."

Whatever Murdoc's reply was, it made Annie cover her mouth and squeeze her eyes shut as she tried to silence her sob. After she pulled in another sharp breath, she lowered her hand and looked again at the patient before her. When she spoke, her voice was shaking more than ever.

"You're out of favors, MacGyver."

Mac barely had time to process the words before he saw the side of Annie's head explode outwards, spattering blood, brain matter, and shards of skull on the door and the window looking into the hall. The sound of glass shattering registered a half-beat later. Her body collapsed bonelessly to the floor at the foot of Mac's bed, half out of his sight, only allowing him to see her legs. The blond agent could only stare at the spot where the nurse's face used to be, frozen in shock, hardly remembering to breathe and barely able to hear Jada shouting over coms, trying to tell the others where she thought the shot came from.

In less than a minute, eight tac agents had darted into the room and grabbed Mac and Bozer's beds, rushing them into one across the hall, where hospital personnel were waiting to examine them. Room-divider curtains were used to shield them from being spotted from the windows. Two tac agents—one of whom being Jada—stayed in the room with them, while another two guarded the door.

Mac, meanwhile, was frozen, eyes locked on a few specks of blood dotting the blanket at the foot of his bed. Annie's blood.

Yet another person he couldn't protect.

He finally managed to tear his eyes away to check on Bozer, who had been rolled in behind him, and found his best friend was just staring at him, still too drugged to make more coherent sense of what he'd just seen. A part of him ached for his best friend, wanted to shield him, but the rest was still too shocked.

This was his fault.

There were no options here. No way to win. No way to get 'straight A's' and get them all out alive. When he 'passed' they barely survived. Now that he'd 'failed,' Bozer was still breathing, but an innocent—just a woman doing her job—paid the price. There was no end in sight. No 'grade' that he could earn that would save everyone. No guarantee that at the end of all this, Murdoc wouldn't just start a second class.

He'd simply make the exams harder to pass. And if he was right, if Murdoc was saving him and Jack till last, then that left Riley—

That left Riley to pay the price.

There was no way to get everyone out alive.

Mac paid no attention to Jada. He ignored the nurses and doctors flocking around the agents, flitting in and out of the room like gnats. He focused only on the drops of blood on his blanket, until someone took it away, and he was staring at unmarked blue sheets, an unmarked tiled floor where there was no blood, no body.

Like it hadn't happened.

But it had. And it was his fault.

* * *

 **...I think it's fairly safe to say that Annie is not, in fact, okay.  
** **[me laughing over all of you groaning loudly]**

 **Anyway, that concludes this exam. As a recap, Murdoc is now pissed (which is bad news for the team), everyone has some new trauma to discuss with their** **therapists, and at least four people are dead.**

 **What's that? I only told you about two? Whoops. 3:)**

 **I hope you all enjoyed! As usual, a HUGE thank you to Haven126, without whom this would not have been completed. Please don't forget to drop a quick review! See you next class!**


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